


Analyse This!

by waterytart



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dimension Travel, F/M, alternate timeline character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterytart/pseuds/waterytart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travellers from an alternate universe arrive in the SGC and it just so happens that they have a history with Jack O'Neill. With O'Neill plunged back into his past, and the travellers struggling to live in a new dimension, tensions rise pretty fast...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a Stargate SG-1 fic with a few characters from BtVS thrown in - I really wanted to study Maggie in detail. It's set during the summer between S4 and S5 of BtVS, and in season 4 after "The Serpent's Venom" for Stargate SG-1.
> 
> Also, although it's marked as Explicit, you'll need to read pretty far to get to anything steamy. Otherwise this fic is Mature rated for language, violence and triggery themes.

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

The gate room siren blared. Carter stopped short in the middle of her report on P4R-286's soil samples, and the sudden noise made Daniel choke on the coffee he'd been sipping. Teal'c didn't move, and a brief exchanged glance told O'Neill that he too was grateful for the distraction. Soil analysis was just about the most boring subject he could think of, and now he had an excuse to stretch his legs.

The team followed Hammond down the stairs leading to the control room, with O'Neill wondering what was going to hit them this time. Unscheduled wormholes could be just about anything, from Goa'uld strikes to dorky scientists coming back with sunstroke. The latter was far more common, these days.

"Receiving IDC: it's SG-1," said Walter.

"What?" snapped O'Neill.

"Can you think of anyone who could have got hold of your IDC, Colonel?" asked the General.

O'Neill shook his head, cold rage coiling around his stomach. They'd been compromised, dammit, and he hadn't even suspected it.

The General got hold of the microphone and sent out a message on the radio. "This is General Hammond of the SGC. Identify yourselves."

"This is Major Kawalsky," said a familiar voice through crackling static. "I bet this sounds weird to you, but we're under attack and requesting asylum, sir."

"How many of you are there?"

"Three," said Kawalsky. "We really need–" Gunfire, staff weapon shots and zat blasts took over.

O'Neill stood there dumbfounded. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Kawalsky again after his death, but it was downright spooky every damn time.

"Could he be from some alternate reality?" asked Carter. "I thought we'd had the mirror destroyed."

"So did I, Major," said Hammond. Then he heaved a great sigh and turned to Walter. "Close the blast doors, Sergeant. Defence teams, stand by," he instructed into the microphone.

"Are you sure, sir?" asked O'Neill. "It could just be a big fat trap."

"I'm quite sure, Colonel. If that mirror still exists, I want to know where it is and why it's still intact. And if not, I want to ask the people responsible for stealing your iris code a few questions. That's a damn big security breach, Colonel."

A team of SFs took aim at the gate, hidden behind thick shields. Jack swallowed back a comment about how useful a bunch of SFs would be against a Goa'uld bomb or whatever else the slimy bastards thought of sending through a wormhole.

"Open the iris," said Hammond when everyone was in place. "Major Kawalsky, you have a go," he said through the radio.

O'Neill sighed and fixed his eyes on the screens that showed what was going on in the gate room. Daniel and Carter crowded around him to watch too.

The iris opened, just in time for a man to fly through the gate head first. He landed hard on his face at the bottom of the ramp, his weapon skidding across the concrete ground. Tall, dark hair, BDUs... definitely Kawalsky. Or someone who could make themselves look like him.

"Wow, that's really him..." said Daniel quietly.

"Oh boy," Carter mumbled.

He knew just how she felt. If a long-haired Carter sauntered in, hanging on the arm of an alternate version of himself – probably one with a Ph.D., knowing his luck – he would... well he didn't know what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

Kawalsky straightened slowly. He had a bloody nose and was covered in grime and sweat. He raised his hands to show that he wasn't here to fight, wincing as he did so, and twisted back to look at the gate. Waiting for the others, no doubt. Well at least they hadn't sent a nuke in, so far.

Enemy fire suddenly crashed through the gate. The blast from a staff weapon slammed into one of the walls, at the same time as a woman hurtled out of the event horizon, reeling under a zat blast. She bashed into the ramp's railing, twitching under the crackling energy shot, and then her legs gave way and she fell to her knees on the ramp.

O'Neill stared at her in utter shock. Of all the twisted shit his brain had been able to think up about alternate dimensions, nothing had been as quite bad, as sick, as _this_. This had to be a dream.

More staff weapon fire flew into the gate room. O'Neill was pretty sure they'd got out the big guns, the intensity of the last blast was more like a staff cannon. The SFs' shields were getting hit, and a couple of them toppled over, smoke rising from blackened equipment.

"Close the iris," said Hammond.

She whirled around when she saw the iris start to close.

"No!" O'Neill saw her mouth it, horror written all over her face.

"We still have someone out there!" Kawalsky's shout reverberated through the gate room.

The iris closed, cutting off the enemy fire. Silence fell in the gate room, resounding after the roar of the staff cannons.

Walter checked the monitors for impacts. "I can't tell what happened, sir, there are a lot of impact events from the fire fight. But if there was a third one..."

"Thank you, Sergeant," said Hammond quietly. It had been a tough call, but it was getting too dangerous in there; O'Neill would have probably done the same.

It all seemed so unreal, though. Maybe it wasn't who he thought. The black and white screens distorted everything, after all. He could barely make out her features, she was crumpled against the ramp, face pressed against the railing.

O'Neill rubbed his forehead and screwed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that when he opened them, he'd wake up in the middle of Carter's report on soil samples. Anything was better than this.

The noise of the blast doors being opened made him jerk back to attention. They revealed Kawalsky standing there, blood still dripping down his face, staring at the control room with a mixture of surprise, exhaustion and anger on his face. She was hauling herself up, gripping the ramp, trembling violently and not making eye contact with anyone. The few glimpses O'Neill got of her face just confirmed what he suspected. Damn it.

"Call a medical team to the embarkation room," Hammond told Walter, before hurrying down the stairs with Carter and Daniel following suit. O'Neill lingered behind, finally following when Teal'c gave him a quizzical look.

"Relinquish your weapons," ordered Hammond. Kawalsky's MP5 had already skidded far from his reach after the fall, and he handed over his side arm, as well as his tactical vest.

SFs approached her cautiously. She was white as chalk and immobile. The men took a zat gun and a M9 off her; she barely moved when they pulled her tactical vest off. Finally, the SFs stood back, some bagging and tagging the confiscated weapons, others still pointing their weapons at the newcomers.

"Who is in charge of this team?" asked Hammond, once he was facing them.

"I am." Her voice was sharp as ever, despite the zat blast. She managed to turn and shuffle down the ramp until she was next to Kawalsky.

"Identify yourself."

The medical team had appeared behind the SFs, ready to intervene.

"Lieutenant Colonel Margaret Walsh, sir."

 _Lieutenant Colonel_. What the hell?! And she was staring at them all. He could see how those familiar blue-green eyes flicked from one SG-1 team member to the next. When her gaze met his, he scowled at her.

"There were three in your party, you had Major Kawalsky and..."

She fell silent and stared at the floor. If it was possible, she looked even paler.

"Lieutenant Riley Finn," said Kawalsky quietly.

Well, at least it hadn't been Carter or Daniel. Killing them, even alternative versions of them, would have been hard on everyone in that control room.

"And how did you come into possession of SG-1's iris code?"

"We are SG-1, sir," she said, looking up at Hammond again. "We're SG-1 in an alternate reality. You may understand if you've also found the quantum... the..."

Whatever energy that had been keeping her on her feet suddenly ran out. She crumpled to her knees, shaking, coughing, retching. O'Neill averted his gaze, but he was pretty sure he heard her curse.

Fraiser approached. "Permission to bring them to the infirmary, General?"

"You do that, doctor."

A pair of nurses hurried towards Walsh and helped her up. Kawalsky walked, and SFs cautiously followed them.

Hammond turned around and marched back up to the briefing room, silent and pensive. They were soon all seated again in front of the paperwork about P4R-286.

"It's hard to believe this could happen again," said Carter. "I mean the chances of Kawalsky showing up again are, well, astronomical. Again."

"Well is it so improbable?" said Daniel. "After all he's been part of the Stargate program from the start, and last time he came through he knew how to use the mirror..."

"Yeah because their Carter had shown him how."

"Well okay, but you don't know that she didn't do that in their dimension. But what I'd like to know is how this quantum mirror is still in one piece. Or maybe there were two?"

"I don't think so. You see..." Carter went on to explain something science-y that O'Neill really didn't want to hear.

In fact, they were getting on his nerves; if this had been his command he would have told them to shut the hell up. But Hammond let them bicker about the possibilities and the probabilities and other annoying and pointless theoretical talk. O'Neill just rubbed his forehead and tried to ignore them.

"In any case," Hammond finally cut in, "we'll have to find out who these people are. I mean we know Major Kawalsky, but I've never heard of a Colonel Walsh."

Carter had grabbed a computer and was checking personnel files. "There's nobody in here by the name of Walsh, sir."

"That would be because she's dead, Carter," snapped O'Neill. Everyone stared at him. Damn mouth. It always opened when it shouldn't.

"You know her, Colonel?" asked Hammond.

"She worked here under General West's command, sir."

"I've got her, sir," announced Carter. "Doctor Margaret Walsh, she was a neuroscientist and a psychiatrist who collaborated with the military for the last twenty years, but most of the projects she worked on are classified. Apparently, she died in February this year."

"I heard she had a little operation going on in Southern California, with a bunch of kids that she'd handpicked," O'Neill said wearily.

"You seem to know a lot about her," said Daniel, frowning a little.

"She's the kind of person you want to keep tabs on. Kinda like Linea. You'll love her."

Daniel stared at him as if he'd been slapped in the face – the Ke'ra thing was still a sore spot. Teal'c scowled at O'Neill with the kind of expression that usually scared the crap out of anyone with a bit of common sense. Carter pretended she hadn't heard their conversation and continued tapping away on the computer, but O'Neill could tell she disapproved.

He didn't care. At this moment, he'd do just about anything to soothe the rage that bubbled in him, and if that meant insulting Daniel, tough. It wasn't like Daniel didn't ever lash out when he was pissed off.

"I can't find much else, sir," said Carter at last.

"I'll make my own enquiries, Major, thank you," replied Hammond.

"Sir, a word of caution, if I may," said O'Neill, making an effort to sound as calm as he could. "Maggie Walsh is bad news. Bad as in 'Dr Evil has nothing on me' bad."

"Are you sure that you're just saying that because she was a shrink?" asked Daniel. "Everyone knows you hate psychiatrists. If Dr MacKenzie's double came through the gate you'd be reacting just the same."

"Dr Jackson does have a point," said Hammond, casting O'Neill a withering glare.

He pasted on an innocent expression, but he knew that most of the psychiatrists who'd seen him had complained and/or tried to paw him off to someone else after mere evaluations, let alone attempts at so-called therapy. In his opinion, that just served them right for trying to pick his brains.

"Well, I'll go make a few calls," said Hammond after a while. "I'll let you know what I find."

Jack ground his teeth, forcing himself to shut up. They'd probably find enough incriminating material when they looked a bit further into the classified files. Hopefully that would put them off from wanting to keep her around for too long.


	2. Chapter 2

Dr Fraiser glanced at the woman on the gurney. She was thin, on the way to emaciated. Her hair was short and an ashy blonde colour; silver strands glinted under the neon light. Her eyes were the most striking feature, the only thing that expressed some vulnerability in a face otherwise looked hard and closed.

The woman's stomach had been heaving for the last ten minutes, although it was empty and had been for a while. It didn't sound like this team had had time to get any rations before they'd arrived in this, well, this dimension. Dr Fraiser had seen her fair share of people in that state: exhausted, hypoglycaemic, wounded, and emotionally shaken. And yet this Walsh woman still seemed determined to stay in control.

"Are you all right there, Colonel?" asked Fraiser softly as she saw a particularly violent tremor run through the woman's body.

"I'll be fine once I get enough glucose in me," she replied breathlessly.

"Glucose, huh? Most people would have said you were in shock," said Fraiser as she came closer to Walsh's bed.

"Heart rate's too high."

Fraiser raised an eyebrow. "And you know so much about medicine because...?"

"I'm a doctor?" replied Walsh, with a twitch of the lips that was perhaps a smile.

"A medical doctor?"

Walsh nodded. "Neurology and psychiatry. I'm not bleeding and if the zat had put me in neurogenic shock, you'd be seeing bradycardia, right?"

So she was a MD, and a know-it-all. Well, that usually went hand in hand. "You call them zats too?"

"Jackspeak. My CO didn't like foreign words. Especially those that were longer than two syllables."

"Jackspeak." Fraiser frowned a little. "That's funny, that's a term Dr Jackson uses to define Colonel O'Neill's abuse of scientific jargon."

Walsh said nothing and looked away, her face closed and unreadable. Fraiser wondered how an MD had ended up heading SG-1. And her reaction to the mention of O'Neill and Daniel was... well. What was she trying to hide?

"Could you tell me how Kawalsky's doing?" asked Walsh abruptly.

"Well, he has fractured ribs and a mild wrist sprain. He also has a slight concussion. I take it he hardly set foot on the ramp when he went through the gate, and hit the concrete head first."

"Well, at least no vital organs were endangered, then."

Fraiser raised an eyebrow at the slightly distasteful joke. Speaking of which... she noticed Kawalsky flirting with a nurse who was bandaging his wrist.

"I'm not so sure, it looks like he's been confused enough to forget about the dangers of bothering my staff," said Fraiser, raising her voice to be heard across the whole infirmary.

Kawalsky promptly stared hard at the ceiling. Fraiser gave a satisfied nod. She turned back to see Walsh smiling at her; it was a small smile, but it looked more genuine than the sarcastic sneer she'd seen before. Her heart rate had finally gone back down into the 90s and colour was returning to her face.

"Looks like your heart rate is normalising, and I'm happier with your blood pressure. How's the nausea?"

"Better, Janet, thank you."

Fraiser was taken aback. Not many people called her that. Sam did, and some people from the lab, and that was about it. Walsh suddenly seemed to realise what she had said.

"I'm sorry," she said in clipped tones. "I didn't mean to sound overly familiar."

The phone rang and Fraiser hurried to pick up. She had a brief conversation with General Hammond, who wanted an update on the two people's status, and to know when they could come to the briefing room. It felt like he was in a hurry to ask them questions.

By the time she hung up, Walsh seemed to have phased out entirely. She wasn't trembling anymore, nor did she look frightened. She just seemed absent. A glance at Kawalsky told Fraiser that he was doing fine; he was still trying to make small-talk with the nurse.

"That was General Hammond," she said, and Walsh promptly snapped out of her daze. "He would like to talk to you as soon as possible. Do you think that you'll be up to it?"

Walsh nodded. "I suppose the sooner we clear this up, the better."

* * *

Carter made her way to the briefing room, escorting Colonel Walsh from the infirmary, as per General Hammond's orders. She didn't feel very happy about pointing a zat gun at someone who looked so sick, but Colonel O'Neill had insisted that she had no idea how dangerous Walsh could be. He was escorting Kawalsky, although his eyes stayed fixed on Walsh most of the time.

To say that the Colonel had been acting strangely since the arrival of the two inter-dimensional refugees was a big fat euphemism. He didn't often get this irritable, or paranoid. He obviously knew something that they didn't about this Walsh woman, but of course he wasn't sharing. What had Walsh done for him to be so distrustful? Whatever it was, Carter didn't like the fact that he was judging her so fast: they didn't know what kind of person Colonel Walsh was, and how much she had in common with Professor Walsh.

General Hammond had let them know a little more about Professor Walsh's resume. Margaret Susan Walsh, born February 7 1955, had studied Medicine at the John Hopkins University and specialised in psychiatry and neurology. She'd been approached by the Pentagon in the 80ies to do some research, and had been working alongside the military ever since.

It seemed that her projects had focused on increasing the performance of recruits in various combat situations and that she'd worked in Area 51 and Cheyenne Mountain. She'd been Cheyenne's on-base psychiatrist in the years leading up to the Stargate project. Daniel didn't have any recollections of her, they apparently hadn't met. Carter wondered if this woman had treated Colonel O'Neill as a psychiatrist; Daniel was right, it would explain a lot about the Colonel's reaction to her.

Walsh had then been recruited by the NID and started working on a covert operation in California, a few months before the SGC had opened again for business. She'd got tenure at Sunnydale University as a professor in psychology, but her main work seemed to be implanting chips into the brain of "hostile" creatures to curb their violent behaviour. Carter's guess was that she was testing on aggressive apes. She'd also still been testing various chemicals to increase performances in the field. Apparently, Professor Walsh had been killed in a freak lab accident. At that point of the meeting, Colonel O'Neill had growled something incomprehensible about patchwork.

Despite Colonel O'Neill's dislike for Walsh, Carter was fascinated by some of her ideas. She hadn't realised that earth scientists were able to achieve that level of technology. And it went without saying that a chip causing severe pain whenever the carrier tried to use violence was something that may well come in handy, particularly if they ever made Goa'uld prisoners.

And now they stood in the elevator. Colonel O'Neill could barely keep still, regularly shooting dark glares at Walsh and shifting around impatiently. Carter hadn't often seen him this antsy, and it was getting really annoying, particularly since nobody had a clue about what was wrong with him. Besides, Walsh didn't look so good: pale, clammy, kind of breathless; it seemed inappropriate for the Colonel to be picking on someone who was visibly weak.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" asked Carter.

"Nothing to worry about, Major," she replied quietly but clearly.

"Oh but we _are_ worried," said Colonel O'Neill. "Not for _you_ , obviously, but about the shit you could pull on this base."

Carter cringed. She'd heard the Colonel curse often enough, and be rude to a number of people with whom he was meant to be forging diplomatic alliances, but he usually kept _that_ tone for people like Maybourne.

"With all due respect, Colonel, that was out of line," said Kawalsky. "You don't even know who we are."

"With all due respect, __Charlie__ _, s_ hut the hell up."

"What the fuck's your problem, Jack?"

"Major! Language!" snapped Walsh.

"Aw, come on, Colonel, he's acting like a first class..."

His words tapered off under her glare. She may have looked tired and sick, but there still seemed to be a tremendous amount of authority in her.

The rest of the ride lasted an eternity. Kawalsky kept on shooting angry glares at Colonel O'Neill. Walsh stared at the floor. Carter did the same, wincing when she heard the Colonel grinding his teeth. Tension and icy silence filled the elevator; it was just as bad as the shouting.

This was going to be a hell of a meeting, with Colonel O'Neill acting like a petulant kid; sometimes she didn't know what she saw in him. And if either of the inter-dimensional travellers said that Carter and O'Neill were happily married in their dimension, maybe _she_ was going to flip out too.

General Hammond sat at the briefing room table, taking in the faces of the people settling down. Colonel O'Neill was seething quietly at one end of the table, his eyes fixed murderously on Colonel Walsh. She was staring at her hands, looking ill but grimly determined. Kawalsky was sitting by her, also looking the worse for wear, and occasionally casting angry glances at O'Neill. The rest of SG-1 seemed puzzled and unnerved, most probably because of their CO's behaviour.

Colonel O'Neill was probably right to be suspicious of Walsh. Hammond had been granted access to some of Professor Walsh's classified records from the Pentagon, and found that her studies had gone into a pretty mind-boggling field, with a project called the Initiative. She'd been studying "sub-terrestrials", creatures that sounded like they came from horror movies such as demons and vampires.

Hammond could barely believe that the NID would allow someone to go as far as to create "super soldiers" out of demon parts. But he wasn't surprised that they had let her try experimental drugs on her recruits – including one Riley Finn, interestingly enough – or that the experiments had finally caused her demise. The whole report read like some kind of horror story.

Of course Hammond knew that the woman who sat before him was probably a different person. While Colonel O'Neill's comparison between Professor Walsh and Linea seemed rather apt, they had to find out for themselves how similar her alter ego was.

"Colonel Walsh, Major Kawalsky, I believe that you have a lot of explaining to do. For the time being, we'll be sticking to the basics. You will be fully interrogated as soon as possible."

Walsh looked at him for a moment with a steely glare. According to the reports he'd just read, she had a reputation for being an extremely tough, persistent and demanding person.

"We'll do our best to answer your questions, sir," she replied finally.

"Very well. Why don't you start by explaining what SG-1 means?"

"SG-1 is the name of our team. It's an acronym derived from the name of our 'Stargate' program. The number 1 means that we were the first team created for the exploration of new planets."

"Is this the original composition of SG-1?"

"No, sir. I'm the last surviving member of the original team, which consisted of Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter, Dr Jackson and myself," said Walsh, her voice a little quieter.

The briefing room was silent for a moment. O'Neill pulled a sarcastic sneer, while Dr Jackson and Major Carter seemed fascinated by all this. Walsh seemed to hardly notice, as if she were lost in a daydream. There was something off about her, but Hammond couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I would like you to tell me about how all this started," said Hammond, drawing Walsh out of her thoughts.

"It all started when Catherine Langford invited Dr Daniel Jackson to analyse the symbols on an artefact that she had found, the Stargate. That was about five years ago, I believe. I was working with the NID at the time."

O'Neill made a disgusted little sound. Hammond glowered at him.

"When Dr Jackson and other scientists finally found out how to make the Stargate work, a first mission was organised by General West. It was led by Colonel O'Neill, accompanied by Dr Jackson and Major Kawalsky, amongst others."

"That story sounds familiar," said Dr Jackson with a small smile.

"Colonel O'Neill's team came back from Abydos with rather interesting prisoners: the Goa'uld Ra and a few Jaffa. The Stargate project was however considered too dangerous and expensive, and was closed down. However, my team interrogated them and had the privilege of studying them closely."

"What kind of team was this?" asked Hammond.

"Mainly doctors and scientists. I'm a medical doctor myself, they considered I had enough experience in psychology and medicine to carry out their assignment."

"Which was?"

"To find out as much as I could about the biology and the psychology of both Goa'uld and Jaffa. There was also another team studied their technology and tried to reverse-engineer it."

"So what happened to the prisoners?" asked Dr Jackson.

"Ra's body gave out within a few weeks because he didn't have a sarcophagus, but some of the Jaffa lived for a year or so, and we spent quite some time studying Goa'uld biology and technology."

Teal'c didn't seem too happy about this, but Hammond wasn't surprised. In fact, if Teal'c hadn't joined SG-1, he probably wouldn't have had any qualms over sending Jaffa to the NID for testing.

"How did you end up being part of SG-1, Colonel Walsh?" asked Hammond.

"General West had retired, and General Hammond got the command of Cheyenne Mountain, although it was hardly being used anymore. And then one day a female airman was abducted by someone coming from the gate, and several men were killed. Colonel O'Neill, Carter, Kawalsky, Ferretti and I travelled to Abydos to investigate."

"Why you?" asked O'Neill.

"Because of my previous assignment, I was the closest there was to a specialist in Goa'uld and Jaffa behaviour and tactics."

"But they sent you out in the field."

"She'd already worked with us... I mean, with Colonel O'Neill and me, when we were in Special Ops," said Kawalsky.

"Really." O'Neill's tone dripped with sarcasm.

"I spent many years evaluating and recruiting operatives for Special Ops missions before my assignment with the NID, and I was occasionally sent out in the field to acquire information."

"Huh," said O'Neill with a scowl.

"Who else worked with you in SG-1?" asked Hammond, who wasn't keen on O'Neill and Walsh getting into a the particulars of her career right now.

"Captain Carter was our expert on wormhole physics and anything technical. And Dr Jackson insisted on being part of the team after Apophis abducted his wife. His archaeological knowledge and language skills were very precious to us."

"What about you, Major?" Hammond asked Kawalsky.

"I headed SG-2," said Kawalsky. "Ferretti, Warren and Casey were under my command. We backed up SG-1 when they went to Chulak."

"Chulak was one of the planets ruled by Apophis," continued Walsh. "Unfortunately we were captured by Jaffa whilst we were trying to rescue Sha're and Skaara. Sha're became the Goa'uld Amaunet's host, and she and Apophis turned up to choose hosts for their 'children'."

"I'll make a wild guess here and say that if _you_ stayed on my team, Teal'c never joined the SGC?" said Colonel O'Neill, barely keeping the belligerence out of his voice.

"Teal'c...?"

"It is I to whom Colonel O'Neill is referring," said Teal'c.

She watched Teal'c for a moment, her face blank. "In my dimension, he was Apophis' First Prime. We encountered him several times in combat situations."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. Hammond noticed the look of disdain on Kawalsky's face. There was no love lost there, apparently.

"After Apophis and Amaunet had taken Skaara and a young girl for hosts, they ordered the Jaffa to kill us all. We managed to escape... and that's more or less how everything started."

"Unfortunately one of those little bastards got into my head," said Kawalsky. Everyone stared at him in disbelief. "No, really. I still have the scar." He turned to reveal extensive scarring on the back of his neck.

"That looks worse than the average Goa'uld entry scar," commented Carter.

"It's from the procedure," said Kawalsky.

"Okay, so... how did you get it out?" asked Dr Jackson.

"We had been experimenting on Goa'uld larvae, and were lucky enough to figure out a technique to reverse the blending process," said Walsh.

"How?" asked Carter excitedly.

"Now is not the time, Carter," snapped O'Neill.

Hammond had mixed feelings about this piece of news. If Walsh knew how this treatment worked, then she would be an invaluable resource to the SGC. But that meant trusting her, and that may not come readily.

"Are you saying that you can extract a Goa'uld symbiote without killing the host, Colonel?"

"It's an extremely delicate procedure, and it's not one that we've mastered yet, but I have helped perform it successfully on a few subjects. We did have losses too, our success rate is about fifty percent. It is much harder to perform on adult Goa'uld, particularly when they have spent a long time in the host's body. The Tok'ra are much more capable than us in that respect."

"So you know about the Tok'ra?" asked Hammond.

"Unfortunately," muttered Kawalsky.

"We do. Major Carter was host to a Tok'ra, Jolinar, for a few days, then Jacob Carter became host to a symbiote called Selmak. However... the relationship between the Tok'ra and the SGC has grown rather unpleasant of late."

"How so?"

"Since the beginning of our alliance, they brought a number of problems to us but often refused to help when we were in trouble. The first major fallout was when they denied any assistance when Heru'ur attacked us, a year ago." She sighed. "The Asgard finally came to our rescue, but... well, General Hammond was killed by Jaffa who infiltrated the base and tried to get information out of him."

"Who replaced me at the head of the SGC?" asked Hammond. He was slightly rattled to hear about his own death, and it seemed obvious that SG-1 had suffered the same fate.

"General Maybourne," she said with a slight grimace.

"What?" howled O'Neill, rising from his seat. "That scum-sucking weasel Harry Maybourne?!"

Hammond shot him a glare, and O'Neill settled down in his chair, scowling even deeper.

"The one and only," muttered Kawalsky. "You liked him just as much in our dimension."

"Things changed drastically after his arrival. We all considered resigning. However, we also knew that we could... ah, save the world, from time to time, and that if we didn't stay, Maybourne would probably endanger us all much more than if we remained to keep an eye on things."

"Why does that sound like an idea of mine?" said Dr Jackson, pulling a face.

"It was Daniel's idea," replied Walsh with a thin smile. "We were also made to to carry out various experiments that would be considered highly unethical. I'm speaking mostly for Major Carter, Dr Fraiser and myself."

"Such as?" prompted Hammond.

"Well... testing the various effects of naquadah in the bloodstream or trying to reproduce the healing properties of a sarcophagus... altering memory devices for various uses... maintaining symbiotes, cloning them... and his latest and stupidest idea – launching a naquadah bomb onto a planet whose core was made of similar heavy metals."

"That's the reason we fled," said Kawalsky. "The radiation from the explosion was coming through the gate, just like the black hole had. Carter had warned him about it. But... well, she wasn't there to stop him."

"What happened to SG-1?"

Walsh swallowed hard before she answered, staring at her hands rather than making eye contact with anyone at the table. "A Tok'ra named Anise asked Colonel O'Neill, Major Carter and Dr Jackson to try out devices that boosted their strength and speed to extremes. She suggested that they go and destroy Apophis' new mothership. It was a disaster..."

There was an uncomfortable silence as Walsh trailed off. Kawalsky rubbed a hand across his face, and for a moment Hammond saw how exhausted he looked.

"Dr Fraiser and I figured out that the armbands were going to fail at some point," continued Walsh. "Maybourne let me go in with a rescue team. When we got to the ship, it was about to explode. We found Dr Jackson unconscious and got him out. But Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter..."

"Apophis' First Prime caught up with them, and they didn't make it," finished Kawalsky abruptly.

Walsh stayed silent for a moment. Her hands were trembling. "That's when I was given the command of SG-1. SG-2 had also lost two men recently, so Maybourne assigned Kawalsky and Ferretti to my team. Dr Jackson remained with us."

"And what happened to him?"

"They'd made him a za'tarc. He shot the Tok'ra High Councillor and half the people in the room and then... well..." She paused again. They could all guess what had happened after that.

"Anise tested practically everyone on base with a machine she'd invented," continued Kawalsky. "Loads of us showed up as za'tarcs, even though we hadn't been anywhere near a Goa'uld or a Jaffa. We were just... lying our asses off to keep our damn jobs."

"Everyone has their secrets," said Walsh. "Anise didn't seem to have thought of that. Practically all of us had moral issues and inner conflicts concerning Maybourne's methods. Anise tried her 'healing' process on three officers. One turned out to be a za'tarc and committed suicide. The two others just wound up with brain damage."

"Yeah, Ferretti just... became a vegetable," muttered Kawalsky.

"That's when Finn joined our team."

"Yeah. Dr Fraiser resigned shortly after that. We fell out with the Tok'ra. And Maybourne started that project with the naquadah bomb."

"I see," said Hammond at last. "I understand that you people have misgivings about the za'tarc detector, but for the time being it is the best lie detector that we can find. We will question you again to make sure that you are telling us the truth."

"Fair enough, sir," said Kawalsky with a grimace.

"Colonel Walsh?"

"If you believe it necessary, sir."

"We will also need to know everything you can recall about the planet on which you arrived. The device that you used was meant to be destroyed after we had a similar encounter with... inter-dimensional travellers."

Walsh blinked, seeming curious, but didn't press the issue. "We considered destroying it, too after Dr Jackson had a strange experience in another dimension."

"But you didn't."

"No sir," said Walsh. "Daniel still had it in his office, he'd been studying it before his death. We'd learnt how to use it and we knew enough about it to decide to take our chances in another world."

"But... did you know about the risk of temporal entropic cascade failure?" said Carter.

"In theory. Carter had used it as a reason not to use the mirror. That's also why we chose a dimension where the mirror was somewhere off-world, so that we wouldn't be physically close to our inter-dimensional counterparts. We thought it may... buy us some time, I suppose."

"Bottom line was, we didn't want to die right away," explained Kawalsky flatly. "We figured that we could work something out after we arrived."

"But we were surprised by Jaffa guards and forced to dial back here," said Walsh. "If we can make a contribution to the SGC before the failure kicks in, we would be happy to do so."

O'Neill snorted with contempt. "Oh bullshit! You're just here to save your hides. That or to drive all of us nuts."

"The only one on base who's going nuts right now is you, Jack," commented Dr Jackson quietly.

"My point exactly!" cried O'Neill.

"Would you like a moment to cool off, Colonel O'Neill?" asked Hammond in a threatening tone.

"Oh, I'm fine, sir. Peachy. No problem whatsoever," he muttered sulkily.

"Good." He turned to Walsh and Kawalsky. "We'll be keeping you in isolation and under guard until the Tok'ra respond to our request for help."

"Uh... won't we be dead by then?" asked Kawalsky. "Temporal entro... thingy... failure. What Major Carter said."

"I suppose that in some ways you're lucky. The two of you are deceased in this dimension. Major Carter will be more capable than I am to predict how this will affect your health, but I take it you will be able to remain here longer than under different circumstances."

"I don't know exactly what will happen, but there are even chances that the death of the people in this dimension will allow you to stay here permanently," said Major Carter.

O'Neill rolled his eyes and mouthed "for crying out loud", shaking his head.

"We'll see about that once we manage to verify your good intentions and that the information you give us is reliable," added Hammond.

Walsh nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Dr Jackson, Major Carter and Teal'c, would you please escort these people to Level 22. And Colonel O'Neill, I want a word with you."

"Yes, sir," said Carter, getting up and waiting for Colonel Walsh. She seemed enthused by the new arrival, as she usually was when was faced with people who could share scientific information with her. Teal'c quickly stood by Kawalsky. Dr Jackson looked at Colonel O'Neill for a long moment before standing up and following the rest of the party out of the room.

O'Neill sat there, looking somewhat subdued and very gloomy. Hammond sighed inwardly, steeling himself for a very tiresome conversation with an angry, irrational O'Neill. He needed to find out what was going on, and what O'Neill was keeping from him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam, Teal'c and Daniel waited in the elevator as it brought them back towards their respective labs. They'd just dropped off Major Kawalsky and Colonel Walsh, and Daniel was still trying to make sense of the whole thing. Sam was clearly doing the same, though Daniel suspected that she was wondering about the quantum physics involved more than Walsh's effect on Jack. Teal'c seemed perplexed too, if the half-frown was any indicator.

"So, what now?" said Sam.

"Well, it looks like General Hammond doesn't want to share whatever he knows about Professor Walsh. Must be classified," said Daniel. "I suppose we're just going to have to wait for the Tok'ra. Or until Jack says something, which means when hell freezes over..."

"I suppose I could try to work out how long they've got here until they start failing."

"You sure that's going to happen?"

"Nope. I have a few theories, but nothing certain. Well, for once it's not another me who came through the wormhole."

Sam said it lightly, with a chuckle, but Daniel suspected she still wasn't quite over that bizarre episode with Samantha. It was hard to be sure, with Sam. She tended to keep things bottled up and slap on a cheery face, especially where her relationship with Jack was concerned.

"Well I certainly wouldn't like to trade places with those two," said Daniel. "Imagine it: you're working for Maybourne, all your friends get killed, you get attacked by Jaffa, someone closes the iris on a team member and then Jack starts accusing you of something someone else did."

"And you didn't see his shouting match with Kawalsky in the elevator." Carter paused, thinking. "He compared Walsh to Linea and then he said something about Dr Evil. Her file didn't look that bad, did it? She was following orders."

"Yeah, I figure he knows something that we don't about her assignments," said Daniel. Suddenly, he had a brainwave. He closed the elevator doors before Sam could get out at level 19.

"Daniel?!"

"I just had an idea, come with me!" The doors opened on level 18 and he hurried towards his lab.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c didn't sound too happy.

"I have a friend who just happens to live in Sunnydale," said Daniel, half turning to talk to them and make sure they were following. "He's the kind of guy who's well-informed about... weird things."

"So?" asked Sam as they finally entered his office.

Daniel rifled through his stuff until he uncovered his telephone, which had been buried under parchment scrolls. "Sooo... I couldn't possibly get into trouble for calling a friend and asking a few questions, right? We might find out more about Professor Walsh."

Teal'c cocked his head. "I do not believe that O'Neill would appreciate that you carry out research on Colonel Walsh without his permission."

"I know that he won't appreciate it, Teal'c. But considering that he's gone all laconic and moody on us, I don't think that anything we can do could make him much worse. And at least then we'd understand him."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and nodded, generally translated as "point taken".

"Who's this friend? I mean... you say he knows about weird stuff going on in Sunnydale, but how would he know about classified research?"

"Ah, yeah... Sunnydale is a... um, a very strange place, apparently. And I'm pretty sure that when you hear me say this, you're going to think that I'm ready for the nice upholstered cell again..."

"C'mon Daniel, we're not like that," said Sam with a small smile.

Daniel sat down at his desk. "Okay. I met him when I was a student and he was working in the Oxford Archaeology Library. He was very interested in the occult. One night, we were out late and... well... we met a... uh... a vampire."

Sam stared incredulously. Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

"I was told that vampires only existed in the imagination of the Tau'ri."

"Yeah, they do," said Sam. "What had you been smoking?"

Daniel pulled a sarcastic face at Sam. "I admit that we were a bit drunk. And yes, Teal'c, that's what most people will tell you, but it isn't true. Vampires are real, and I met one. I saw it, Rupert saw it, and... well... he pulled out a stake and after a struggle, he got rid of it."

"Yeaaah-huh, right. Vampire. Sure." Sam was trying not to grin.

"And what do you think the 'hostiles' that Professor Walsh was working on were, Sam? Rabid dogs? Angry chimpanzees? Racoons, maybe?"

"Vampire racoons, maybe?" said Sam teasingly. Teal'c gave a booming laugh, apparently finding the idea very amusing.

"All right, you can all get lost then. Out of my office, now," said Daniel in his best haughty voice.

"Come on, Daniel! Wouldn't we know about it, if they really existed?"

"Not if the victims didn't survive."

Sam breathed deeply. "Okay, just for the sake of argument – if vampires kill humans and breed, or propagate, or whatever it is they do, why isn't our world overrun by vampires?"

"I asked Rupert the very same question, funnily enough. He told me it was because there has always been someone to guard the earth. A girl with special powers, called the Slayer."

Teal'c frowned slightly. "I have read of such a tale in _Weekly World News_. Into each generation a young woman is born. She alone has the ability to fight vampires, demons and monsters of darkness."

He said it in such a serious tone that Sam burst out laughing. Even Daniel had trouble keeping a straight face, the line seemed to come right out of a cheesy B-movie. And why did Teal'c have to read newspapers that were made up of 90 percent garbage and 10 percent accurate information?

"The existence of vampires or demons isn't much stranger than the existence of the Goa'uld, Jaffa and Unas, you know?" said Daniel. He knew it was lost on Sam. As soon as he wanted to talk to her about the occult, she turned deaf and blind. Somehow, it seemed easier for her to believe in aliens than to believe in the supernatural. The last time they had discussed magic, they'd ended up not speaking for the best part of a week.

"All right, all right... I'm sorry..." She wasn't. She couldn't keep a grin off her face. "So one girl fights all these vampires alone?"

"She has a teacher... a mentor. They call them Watchers. That's what Rupert is, though I don't know if he's ever been in charge of a Slayer, but in any case they're very learned people and they tend to know about strange events. He told me about Sunnydale, said it was a point of convergence of mystical energies."

"I have read that too. They say that all creatures of the dark are attracted to that place."

Sam tried to keep a straight face but her lips were twitching. "Huh-uh."

Daniel sighed. Teal'c was not helping. " _Anyway_. He's there now, Professor Walsh used to be there as well, they were both academics, they might have met. And as I said, he keeps tabs on people who look like they're up to something weird."

Sam nodded. "Well... I guess it's worth a shot."

"If you make fun of me while I'm on the telephone, I'll beat you to death with the receiver," said Daniel.

"I'll be good, I promise," said Sam.

Daniel rolled his eyes. He spent the next five minutes trying to track down Rupert Giles' phone number in every nook and cranny of his office, before remembering that he'd spent an afternoon of procrastination transferring various addresses and numbers onto his computer. All the while, Sam was muttering to herself with the occasional snicker, and Teal'c looked confused, which wasn't surprising, considering that everyone had been telling him that everything in _Weekly World News_ was bullshit. At last, Daniel got hold of the number and dialled.

He swallowed nervously. Rupert had last contacted him for an emergency about an ancient obelisk with a variation of Sumerian engraved on it, asking him to proof-read his translation. It had been about a demon – Akasha? No, that sounded wrong – that was meant to swallow the world and make it into living hell. Apparently, the world was pretty much still there, so either the obelisk didn't work or Rupert had helped saved the world. However, Daniel hadn't had any news since.

The phone rang twice before Daniel heard a distinctly British "hello?".

"Um, hi. Is this Mr Giles?"

"It is. To whom am I speaking?"

"Er, hi Rupert, it's Daniel. Daniel Jackson."

"Daniel? I didn't expect to hear from you." But Rupert actually sounded happy. That was quite rare, when Daniel spoke to fellow archaeology buffs. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. You?"

"Oh, well... all right, actually, despite impending doom at least once a week and people pilfering food from my fridge." There was a clinking noise in the background, and a derisive snort, probably from one of the fridge-pillagers. "I'm sorry that I never called back to thank you after you helped me with Acathla. I meant to, but there was a lot happening."

"What, you broke all your fingers and couldn't hold a phone?"

There was a pause. "As a matter of fact, someone broke them for me. And my Slayer left town for three months after that."

Oh, shit. "Ah... Rupert... sorry. That was a stupid thing to say."

"Don't worry. I spend a lot of time around brash Americans, I've grown accustomed to your strange habits."

"Yes, well, we don't get taught how to get our upper lips stiffened and become all snotty over here, sorry," replied Daniel with a grin.

Rupert chuckled. "I don't suppose that you're calling me for small talk, are you?"

"Ah, busted. Yeah, I'm calling for a favour, actually."

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for some information. Do you know a Professor Margaret Walsh?"

"MAGGIE WALSH?" Daniel quickly moved receiver away from his ear as his friend's indignant voice boomed out of it. Sam and Teal'c both heard the exclamation too.

"Yeah, that would be her. I think she taught Psychology at Sunnydale University and... well, I'd just like to know if you know anything else about her."

"Unfortunately," said Rupert. "Are you sure you want to waste a perfectly good telephone bill on her?"

Daniel grinned. "Let's just say that the taxpayers will be picking up the tab for this one."

"I see... you never told me what you were doing in Colorado Springs, by the by."

"Paperwork, mostly," said Daniel. It wasn't a complete lie. Mission reports took up much more time than people would think.

"All right, all right, keep your secrets, then. I'll tell you about Walsh." He sighed. "It all started last September. My Slayer, Buffy..."

"Buffy?" Daniel repeated, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, I'm aware of how it sounds. She's an admirable Slayer, though, so don't you say another word." Rupert's tone clearly suggested that nobody was allowed to make fun of her except him.

"Okay, I'm not saying anything. Buffy the Vampire Slayer it is."

Sam raised her eyebrows incredulously. Daniel had to agree that it sounded pretty ridiculous.

"Anyway, Buffy had just started college and was taking psychology with Professor Walsh. And that... that... woman... had quite a lot of... of influence over her students. Buffy was fascinated by her class. I suppose she was doing her job rather well. At least, her day job."

"So what was the catch?"

"She led a secret operation. I'm not sure if it was the military or some other branch of the government, but she had a group of young soldiers, all trained to fight vampires and demons. I suppose that wasn't so bad, except that this Walsh woman was using them as guinea pigs."

"What kind of experiments did she do?"

"Well, she pumped the boys with various chemicals that made them stronger. Once they stopped the treatment, they all went through severe withdrawal. She put chips into the heads of certain creatures, including a vampire who has now become a public nuisance."

"Oh...? Why don't you just... er... stake him?"

"Well, I suppose it would be like shooting a caged animal." There was an indistinct exclamation in the background, and Rupert muttered something at the other person in the room, before continuing. "He can't hurt humans, you see. The chip in his brain causes him to get a violent headache as soon as he tries. And sometimes he helps, gives us information and such."

"I see. So Professor Walsh devised this chip to incapacitate vampires and demons. What about humans?"

"Oh she implanted some of her men with various chips, too, so that she could control them. I'm sure the military would just love to have soldiers that would _always_ obey orders, wouldn't they?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess. But... um... from all I've heard so far, you haven't really told me anything that would justify the way you howled her name earlier on. I mean I get that she was doing questionable research, but it's not much worse than..." Than other things the NID had done. Oops. "Well it doesn't sound downright evil."

"I admit that I... had issues with her because she was becoming a-a... mentor to my Slayer and she was a... well, a shrew. When she found out about Buffy being the Slayer she tried to enrol her into her little operation. Only, Buffy isn't the type to follow orders. She asks questions. I suppose that she asked too many questions, because Walsh tried to get her killed."

"What?"

"She sent Buffy into an ambush - alone, with a dodgy weapon and locked in with two heavyweight demons with axes. Obviously, Buffy made quick work of them. And when she tried to return to find out what Walsh was playing at, we found out that she'd been killed."

"How come?"

"She'd been working on a project called 314. Basically, it was a Frankenstein's monster with an uranium power core and a computer instead of a brain, I believe. It had been made from some of the deadliest bits of demon Walsh had found, but she hadn't counted on it turning on her. It skewered her with a sort of a... uh... a sharp retractable bone in its arm."

"Ouch."

"I suppose so, yes. It went on a killing spree and tried to start a war between demons and humans, in order to use the corpses to create more hybrid creatures like him. We finally managed to stop him this summer. The authorities covered everything up and closed down their little underground base after that."

"That sounds like quite a story."

Rupert chuckled. "Actually, in my four years in Sunnydale, I've seen worse."

"Wow... exciting life for a librarian."

"I'm not a librarian anymore. Haven't been since we blew up the school."

"Since you did what?"

"Get outta the way, airman!" Jack's loud voice suddenly echoed in the corridor.

"Oops, I've got to go," said Daniel. "Nice talking to you."

"Did I hear 'airman'? Daniel, wherever are you calling from?"

"You better be, you nearly walked right into me! Now scram!"

Daniel rolled his eyes. Jack in full hardass officer mode. And he could hear footsteps coming towards his office.

"I'll call you back. Thanks for the info. Bye Rupert!" Daniel slammed the phone down just as Jack walked in.

"So, whatcha all doing in here?" asked Jack, coming in as if he owned the place.

"Talking," said Daniel.

"Yeah? What about?"

"Quantum physics, sir," said Sam quickly. "I was trying to explain what happens to human cells when temporal entropic cascade failure occurs."

Usually, that kind of line worked every time to send Jack packing. This time, however, he ignored the geek-talk, as he liked to call it.

"Did you figure if and when it's going to happen to Walsh and Kawalsky, yet?" he asked. Anyone would have expected him to rejoice at the prospect of Walsh dying, considering his hostility... but no. His face betrayed nothing. Strange.

"Well... I can't tell, sir. I guess that if these people stay here on a long-term basis, we'll find out at some point. It's subject to debate within the highest authorities in physics."

"Huh. Okay. I'll leave you to it. Teal'c, are you up for some sparring?"

Teal'c seemed reluctant. He obviously didn't like to spar when Jack was in a bad mood and acting like a jerk. Daniel imagined it would be hard to resist punching him in the face.

"I do not think it wise to spar so late in the day. It makes it harder for me to _kel'no'reem_."

"But if you like we could go to the mess and talk..." said Daniel.

"No, I'm not hungry. Guess I'll just go home."

And he was off. Daniel watched him go, wondering what Hammond had said to him. Probably that he'd better be good, which was something Jack was barely able to do under normal circumstances.

"Well, what did your friend have to say about Professor Walsh?" asked Sam.

Daniel recounted Rupert's story to the others. Sam still seemed very sceptical and Teal'c confused, but they had to agree that the information tied in perfectly with what Hammond had let them knew about Walsh.

"So basically, she was some kind of... misguided genius?" concluded Sam.

"Looks that way. And obviously General Hammond couldn't tell us about the existence of the demons and vampires who were being used as guinea pigs, or about the creature she made."

"But how would Colonel O'Neill know about any of that? Besides, she died last February, and at that time, he was still stranded on Edora. There's no way he could have known."

"He might have been keeping tabs on Walsh?" suggested Daniel.

"Perhaps, but I don't see why." She sighed. "It just doesn't make sense to me."

"Me neither."

Teal'c made no answer, which meant that either he had no idea, or he was unwilling to share his thoughts. His expression was forbidding as ever. Daniel sighed, resigned to go and speak with Jack sometime, when he'd cooled off.


	4. Chapter 4

General Hammond was pleasantly surprised when the computer recognised the Tok'ra's IDC. He'd sent the message asking them to come with a za'tarc detector only 48 hours ago, and they'd promptly replied that they were sending someone ASAP. Perhaps the fact that Walsh claimed to know how to remove symbiotes from hosts whilst keeping the latter alive may have provided some incentive for them to move faster. A human with such knowledge was certainly a curiosity – or perhaps a threat – to them.

It wasn't too soon, either. Colonel O'Neill had been irritable, fidgety and, generally, a major pain in the backside ever since Walsh's arrival. Hammond had tried in vain to get O'Neill to tell him exactly what the matter was, but he was proving extremely uncooperative. Though he remained generally civil towards the refugees, his silence was charged with anger and frustration. All Hammond had managed to get out of him was that he was sure she was unpredictable, possibly a psychopath and that they'd regret taking her in.

That may well have been true for Professor Walsh, although the Pentagon refused to give him a straight answer about her mental state before she was killed by her creation. She was presented as a genius who had got carried away by her art, which didn't actually mean much in psychiatric terms. It certainly didn't give them a hint as to whether Colonel Walsh had a congenital tendency to mental instability.

Dr MacKenzie had done a full psychological evaluation of their refugees. According to him, Walsh was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which didn't surprise Hammond one bit given the story she'd told them. He had prescribed a course of mild sedatives, and believed that it would improve with time. If that was the extent of her mental health problems, Walsh was no worse off than most people in the facility.

Hammond had also been through Professor Walsh's records, and he'd found out that there had been a few heated arguments with Colonel O'Neill. As far as he could tell, they'd been working under General West's command since the early 90ies, more or less from O'Neill's return from Iraq. One of the altercations with O'Neill had been her refusal to clear him for his mission to Abydos – she'd done his psych evaluation and considered him unfit for field work given his unstable state of mind. But of course, since the Abydos mission was supposed to be a suicide mission anyhow, General West had got O'Neill cleared by someone else.

That still didn't explain why O'Neill considered her a psychopath. On the contrary, the fact that she'd tried to prevent him from going on a suicide mission showed some professional integrity. Then again, O'Neill wasn't necessarily very objective when he held a grudge. Perhaps he knew about some of her more unethical and bizarre experiments. He'd certainly dropped a hint about the Frankenstein monster, which suggested that he'd kept tabs on her after she left for California.

For the time being, Hammond concentrated on the task at hand. He arrived into the gate room to greet the Tok'ra, just as they emerged through the gate. Anise had come, accompanied by Jacob Carter, and another Tok'ra who was carrying the device.

"Welcome to the SGC," said Hammond with a brief smile.

"Hi George," said Jacob, friendly as ever.

"We were very intrigued by your message, General," said Anise, cutting the small talk and striding towards him. Once more she was wearing an outfit that bordered on the indecent. It was an all leather catsuit that revealed her midriff and pushed her breasts up to create a deep cleavage.

"Please follow me," he said, leading the way. "At present, Colonel Walsh and Major Kawalsky are being kept in guarded guest quarters."

"So, let's see if I got this right," said Jacob. "These people turn up from another planet, after having used the quantum mirror that was supposed to be destroyed. And one of them claims to be able to know how to remove symbiotes without damaging the host."

"That's right. Their DNAs match those of people who worked here at some point. Kawalsky was part of the SGC and Professor Walsh worked in Cheyenne Mountain before the Stargate project, then with the NID. They both claim to be part of SG-1, and have extensive knowledge pertaining to the Stargate project and the missions of both SG-1 and SG-2."

They entered the elevator that was bringing them to the laboratory on level 19, where he'd ordered Walsh to be taken. Kawalsky would be interrogated later.

"And they're still alive?" said Anise. "Surely, the coexistence of two identical beings in the same dimension would cause one of them to disintegrate after a relatively short period of time."

"According to Major Carter, they haven't suffered any ill effects of the inter-dimensional travel because their counterparts from this dimension are deceased."

Anise cocked her head to one side and seemed to ponder this at length.

"I heard about the two Sams," said Jacob. "It took you less than a few hours to convince the President to grant the other Sam full access to the facility. Has he suddenly changed his mind about your hosting inter-dimensional refugees?"

"Probably not where it concerns Kawalsky. But the mention of Walsh did cause some waves at the Pentagon."

"Why's that?"

"Let's just say that our dimension's Professor Walsh had a rather twisted project going. She was trying to improve the performance of soldiers by all means possible, and create the perfect soldier. It backfired, and she was killed in the process."

"The good old crazy scientist routine," muttered Jacob, shooting a glance at Anise. Hammond had to admit that he'd noticed the resemblance too. She was oblivious, lost in her own thoughts.

"I do not understand," said Anise finally. "Both these humans are from an alternate dimension. They may be genetically identical to those who once lived here, but how might you judge one as safe, whilst saying that the other is a threat, when you do not know whether either of them is trustworthy?"

"Major Kawalsky was a trustworthy member of the SGC. On the other hand, Professor Walsh conducted experiments that ultimately caused the death of many soldiers and several civilians. We believe she may have suffered from a mental disorder which caused her to take unnecessary risks and make unethical decisions."

"Would this inclination to mental illness be inscribed in her genetic material?" asked Anise.

"Possibly," said Hammond. "That's what we want to find out. While she may turn out to be a great help to us, we want to be certain that this Walsh doesn't share similar problems with her alter ego before we grant her access to anything sensitive."

"I would have thought it logical that both travellers would be given the same treatment," said Anise. "They are, after all, both complete strangers to you."

"Yes, they are. Which is why we're going to interrogate them both extensively," answered Hammond, slightly irritated by Anise's questioning by now. "I was asked to have them carefully checked out before granting them access to the base or assigning them any jobs. We want to be certain that their story can be verified, that they're not za'tarcs, and that their loyalties truly lie with the SGC."

"The za'tarc detector also functions as a lie detector," said Jacob. "Actually, it beats any human-made lie detectors by light-years."

"I thought so," replied Hammond. "I hope that you are prepared for a long interrogation, we'll have to review about five years of these people's lives in minute detail."

They arrived in one of the laboratories. Dr Fraiser was in the control room, tinkering with monitors, with Dr Jackson and Major Carter talking to her. Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill were standing on either side of Colonel Walsh, who'd already been strapped to the seat. O'Neill still looked furious, but his expression softened a little when he saw Jacob and Anise arrive. The Tok'ra who was carrying the device put it down on the table opposite Walsh and started setting it up.

"Hey," said O'Neill. "Is that a za'tarc detector that you've brought us?"

"It is indeed," replied Anise with a smile. "I thought that you disliked the device, Colonel?"

"Oh, you know. Only when it's used on me." He cast a glance at Walsh. "Some people deserve that kind of torture."

"Colonel," snapped Hammond. Walsh was resolutely staring straight ahead, as if to avoid looking at anyone.

"I do not understand," said Anise, raising an eyebrow. "The za'tarc detector is a means of detecting deception. I do not believe it to be a torture device, as long as one is truthful."

O'Neill didn't say anything, but Hammond could see that Walsh's jaw was clenched and her knuckles were turning white from gripping the armrests. This certainly wouldn't be pleasant for her, especially after her experience with the detector, but she would have to bear it.

"The device has been set up," said the third Tok'ra.

Hammond nodded. "Then let's start the procedure. This could take a long time, people."

"Yes, sir." O'Neill took a few steps back and aimed a zat gun at Walsh, whilst Anise placed the memory device on her temple. Walsh winced and shuddered visibly as the memory device locked into place. She must have been very sensitive, most people hardly blinked.

"General, I know how this procedure goes," said Walsh suddenly. "I am fairly sure that I will have to divulge a large amount of personal information for the detector to clear me. I would like to ask you to keep this interview as private as possible."

Hammond glanced at O'Neill, who looked as if his trigger finger was itching. He couldn't really deny Walsh some privacy, and he had a feeling that if she had anything bad to say about O'Neill – hers or theirs – things could only get worse between them.

"All right. Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c, you're dismissed. Jacob, would you please keep a zat gun handy in case she proves to be a za'tarc and gets triggered."

"Sure," said Jacob, holding out his hand for O'Neill's weapon; O'Neill relinquished it with a grunt. "Marnon, will you give me a hand?"

The other Tok'ra nodded. Teal'c handed him his zat gun as he exited, and O'Neill followed reluctantly. Anise sat down behind the za'tarc detector, facing Walsh.

"Dr Fraiser will remain to monitor your physical condition, and I will lead the interrogation from the control room," said Hammond. "The entire conversation will be recorded on video tape and parts of it may be shown to relevant people."

"I understand. And thank you," said Walsh. Hammond nodded and exited the laboratory, closing the door behind him. SG-1 was still hanging around in the corridor. He stopped by O'Neill.

"In no event are you to listen in on our conversation. That's an order, and it goes for all of you. I expect you to respect this woman's privacy, and all of you who have been submitted to za'tarc interrogation should know why."

"Yessir," O'Neill muttered, clearly made a little uneasy by the hint that Hammond had dropped. Good.

Hammond settled down in the control room. Walsh sat very literally at their mercy, rigid and pale, looking straight at him with narrowed eyes.

"Please look at the device, Colonel Walsh," said Anise.

Walsh complied. Beams of light scanned her eye and information popped up on Anise's monitors. The video technician focused the camera to have a shot of Walsh as well as the detector's monitor.

"Right," said Hammond into the microphone. "Let's start from the top."

* * *

O'Neill paced the corridor nervously. He really longed to to know what was going on in there, the frustration was driving him crazy. It had been two hours now. General Hammond had said that it could be long, but this was becoming ridiculous.

The others were hanging around with him in shifts. Sometimes they'd slip away to do something, but they'd always return after a while. At the moment, Daniel and Carter were there. Somehow he suspected they were there to stage an impromptu intervention if he started going off the rails.

"Well, they're certainly taking their time," said Daniel. No shit. It had already been three hours.

"Probably trying to untangle the web of lies she's been trying to feed them."

"Sir... what makes you believe that she's lying?" asked Carter.

"C'mon Carter. She was in Special Ops and she's a shrink. Lying is her job."

"Well you were in Special Ops, what does that say about you?" said Daniel.

O'Neill shot him a sidelong look. "She's the one who's meant to be getting interrogated, not me."

"Yeah, well we're just worried."

He so didn't need this right now. Daniel picking a fight was fine with him, but that compassionate and caring tone... he really didn't want to hear it. It was hard enough keeping it together without Daniel trying to help him, or whatever this was.

"I'm _fine_ , all right?"

"No you're not! You're acting like an ass. We can hardly speak to you. I've seen you act more maturely when you turned into a caveman!"

O'Neill glowered at Daniel, trying not to rise to the bait. It was none of their damn business.

"Fine, then, don't say anything! Just keep in mind that you're being a total dick to someone you don't know much about. Someone who could help us, too!"

"I know her!"

"You do not! You know _a_ Walsh. You have no idea how much of this woman's life is similar or different from the person you knew. We'll only know that after they've finished the interrogations."

"Whatever."

There was a leaden silence. Daniel and Carter were shooting glances at each other. O'Neill sighed inwardly. With any luck, they'd just take her far, far away from the SGC, out of their lives. If she stayed... it was going to be impossible.

Everyone started when the control room's door opened and Dr Fraiser hurried out. She was carrying a cup of water in one hand and a syringe in the other. She didn't say a word, but O'Neill caught a glimpse of Walsh as Fraiser entered the lab.

"What do you think that was about?" asked Daniel.

"Walsh looked like shit," said O'Neill. She did too. Ashen, sweating, exhausted. He hardly recognised her. Maybe Daniel had a point. Maybe she was different. It didn't change how he felt, though. And even if she really was weak, who knew how she'd behave once she recovered?

"Wouldn't we all, if we'd been asked about our personal lives in the minutest details for several hours?" said Carter. "It was tiring enough going over one mission with that detector. They're asking her about the last five years or so."

Dr Fraiser came out, closed the door, and stood there frowning as if she were deep in thought. She seemed oblivious to everyone watching her expectantly.

"Soooo...?" said O'Neill.

She snapped back to attention. "Colonel?"

"What's with the syringe? Was she... doing the cascade failure thingy?"

"I think I need to remind you about Hippocrates' Oath, sir."

"Hippowhat?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," translated Daniel.

O'Neill sighed and rolled his eyes. "Is she a za'tarc?"

"We haven't found anything to suggest it so far."

"So what's going on in there?"

"Remember that privacy she asked for, sir? I'm meant to respect that," said Dr Fraiser, making her way towards the control room.

"C'mon, Doc," O'Neill called after her. "Just tell us if she's evil!"

Dr Fraiser turned and looked at him for a moment. "From what I gather, Colonel, she's no more evil than you and I."

With that, she returned to the control room, leaving O'Neill even more frustrated than before.


	5. Chapter 5

"Thank you, I think that's all we need to know for now, Colonel," said Hammond finally.

Walsh took a deep breath. She'd managed to keep herself together, that was the main thing. She heard the zat guns being closed and put aside; Jacob released her head, then her wrists and ankles. She ached, from the smallest joints in her fingers to her pounding head. What was she doing here? Surely, death by irradiation would have been less painful, or at least a lot faster. Then she remembered for whom she'd done this. He wasn't even there anymore. Pathetic.

"Are you going to be all right, Colonel?" asked Jacob.

"Do I have a choice?" she replied, slowly rising to her feet. The room shifted around her, shook under her feet, the neon lamps brightening and dimming in turn. Even Janet's jab had only partially soothed her. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what it was. Perhaps this was how temporal failure set in.

"We'll have you escorted back to your quarters," said Hammond, who joined her in the laboratory, accompanied by Janet. Walsh nodded. All she wanted now was to lie down.

Anise stood up and stared at her with her typically candid and neutral expression. "I hope that you will soon feel able to share any information that you may think useful to us, and that your feelings towards the Tok'ra will change in the future." She'd spoken as Freya, of course. The softness of her voice was infuriating.

Walsh snorted quietly, wondering what they'd do with her after she'd given out all the useful information she had. Maybe they'd give her a nice padded cell. Keep her in isolation – nice euphemism to describe a prison – indefinitely. Perhaps even send her to the Pentagon, for more tests, probing and pumping. That was, if she survived long enough.

"With all due respect, this isn't the time or place," said Hammond in his best benevolent yet patronising tone. "Let the lady get some rest."

Walsh fought against the wave of warmth that kept threatening to take over her every time she was faced with the so very familiar responses of those that she'd once known. This wasn't her world. It wasn't her General Hammond, her Janet, her SG-1. She couldn't delude herself. It would only hurt more when harsh reality slapped her in the face.

Anise, Jacob and Marnon were told to remain in the laboratory's vicinity, and Walsh followed Hammond out into the corridor. O'Neill and the Jaffa were still hanging around. If O'Neill's gaze could kill, it would solve a lot of her problems.

"Teal'c, will you please accompany Colonel Walsh back to her quarters and bring Major Kawalsky down here," asked Hammond. The Jaffa nodded.

"With your permission, sir, I would like to accompany Colonel Walsh and keep an eye on her," said Janet. "She doesn't look too good."

Walsh hadn't expected anything less from her. She wished that Janet would just leave her be. And now she knew a massive quantity of personal, embarrassing information; Walsh didn't want to have to discuss it ever again. She hadn't wanted to reveal it in the first place.

She followed the Jaffa – it was surrealistic to see him as an ally – and Janet towards the elevator, all the while feeling O'Neill's eyes on her. She wondered what the Walsh from this dimension had done to deserve his contempt and distrust. The question had plagued her ever since her arrival. But now she felt too tired to dwell on it.

Teal'c and Janet remained silent as the elevator brought her closer to her room. Walsh breathed as deeply as she could, trying to remain focused. The Jaffa glanced at her.

"Are you feeling unwell, Colonel Walsh?" he asked.

"I'll be fine."

"You've been through a lot. I still have half a mind to bring you to the infirmary," said Janet.

Walsh shook her head. She couldn't go there, not where everyone could see her. It wouldn't be long now until she broke down, and she didn't want to be seen.

"It isn't necessary. I'm not ill, just tired. I just need to regroup." She knew that she sounded unconvincing. Her voice kept faltering, tremors visibly shook her body and, unless she concentrated, her breath came in shallow gasps.

Janet cast a glance at the Jaffa and said nothing more. They escorted her back to her room and Janet opened up for her. Walsh refrained from making a beeline for her bed. They were still watching her.

"I'll take this from here, Teal'c, thank you," said Janet. The Jaffa nodded majestically and swept out of the room.

Walsh cautiously went to sit on the bed. "You don't want to leave me on my own, do you?"

"Spot on, lady," replied Janet. She picked up the room's phone and dialled a number. Walsh vaguely heard her letting Hammond know she'd be a while. She saw Kawalsky following the Jaffa through the open door. He smiled at her briefly as he passed by. Walsh remained immobile. She felt as if any movement, any word, any expression would just make her shatter.

"So," said Janet, closing the door behind her. "When was the last time you ate something?"

That did it. Janet's typical bedside manner... memories flooded back. She heard her own Janet scolding Jack for having waited too long before dressing a particularly nasty cut; she saw her worrying about Daniel going completely psychotic and Carter getting electrocuted once too many; she could nearly feel Janet's gentle touch, when she'd held her as she sat numbly on the infirmary ground in front of that lifeless body...

Walsh slowly realised that Janet _was_ holding her firmly, and that she was crying. She tried to calm herself, but that made things worse, turning the tears to sobs. She was so tired of holding it all in. In the last four hours, she'd used euphemisms to hide earth-shattering emotions and glossed over excruciating events as if they hardly concerned her... no wonder she couldn't control the tears anymore.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to push Fraiser away. It wasn't right to be breaking down in front of her.

"What for?"

"I'm a complete stranger to you, it's not your place..."

"Oh, don't give me that. You're my patient. And I just spent four hours listening to your life story. I think that entitles me to coddle you a bit."

Walsh sniffed, drying her face as best she could.

"And now we're going to get you to eat something, all right?"

There wasn't much point in trying to resist Janet. Perhaps Walsh could allow herself to accept just a little comfort.

* * *

Hammond hung up the red telephone and stared thoughtfully at the video tapes: two full interrogations, seven hours of questioning; exhausting work for everyone involved. Kawalsky's interrogation had been easier than Walsh's, if only because he seemed less tense and, perhaps, had less ambiguous thoughts and feelings about his past. Hammond was still mulling over Walsh's revelations, but now that he'd received his orders, he just had to deal with it.

Someone tapped at his door, and he told them to enter.

"Sir?" It was Dr Fraiser, standing at attention.

"At ease, doctor," he said. "I've just come off the phone with the President. He's encouraged me to try to integrate Walsh and Kawalsky to the base's staff."

"From what I've seen this afternoon, it sounds like a good idea, sir. We could really do with someone who knows as much as Colonel Walsh does about symbiote biology."

"I know, Doctor. And both of them have knowledge of planets that we haven't yet visited, we could certainly do with their advice for upcoming missions."

"Sir, with all due respect... why are you telling _me_ about this?"

"Well, doctor, quite frankly I'm having difficulty believing her, especially with the detector not being able to clear her entirely. What's your take on it?"

"From what I could tell, sir, she was putting on a front. She broke down when we got to her room. I think that she needs to rest, right now. And maybe some kind of therapy."

"But you believe her?"

"I think that if she'd wanted to make up a lie, she could have chosen something less... embarrassing, sir."

Doctor Fraiser did have a point, there. "Still, her relationship with SG-1 could be a problem for them all. She's grieving for them and she's hostile to Teal'c. As for Colonel O'Neill..." He rubbed his forehead. It really complicated everything.

"Does he know that she'll be staying?"

"Oh yeah. He all but stormed out of my office. I'm this close to losing my temper with him."

Dr Fraiser was thoughtful for a moment. "Perhaps Dr MacKenzie could help them sort out the problem together?"

"Joint counselling with Colonel O'Neill?" Hammond scoffed.

"We don't have many other options, sir, if they're going to collaborate."

"I know," replied Hammond with a sigh. "I'll think about it, doctor. In the meantime, keep an eye on her. Linea conned us once, I don't want it to happen again."

"Of course, sir," said Fraiser with a small smile.

"All right. Dismissed, doctor."

She exited quietly. Hammond sighed and inserted one of the tapes into a video machine and fast-forwarded until he got to the part he wanted to see, about Walsh's mental health.

"To your knowledge, what is your current state of mental health?" said his voice in the background. Walsh gave a dry, humourless laugh.

"I'm not sure whether it's grief or more than that, but I'm severely depressed right now."

"When did that start?" asked Dr Fraiser over the microphone.

"After I lost my teammates. That was about three months ago."

"Have you suffered from major depressive disorder or major depressive episodes in the past?" asked Fraiser.

"No."

"What are your symptoms?" asked Anise. There was a pause.

"Feeling numb. Anxiety. Fatigue. Insomnia. Lack of appetite. Inability to feel pleasure. Difficulty concentrating."

Walsh said it so clinically, as if she'd been looking at herself from the outside. It was one of the reasons Hammond had trouble feeling sympathetic. She was, for lack of a better word, creepy. She seemed to want to keep everything under control. It wasn't that uncommon in people involved in Special Ops, but to this extent... it didn't seem healthy.

"Were you on any kind of treatment?" asked Dr Fraiser.

"I was prescribed an SSRI."

"Excuse me, what is that?" asked Anise.

"A selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor," replied Walsh, her steely expression showing that she knew very well that Anise wouldn't understand that answer any better.

"It's an antidepressant," explained Dr Fraiser. "It helps with this kind of condition. What were you prescribed?"

"20 milligrams of paroxetine per day."

Fraiser was heard flipping through medical files. "I see that Dr Mackenzie prescribed a benzodiazepine instead." She paused for a moment. "Have you ever suffered from any psychotic symptoms, during your treatment or otherwise?"

"Not that I'm aware of," replied Walsh. The blue ring on the detector glowed orange.

"Are you certain?" asked Anise.

Walsh sighed. "I have suffered from psychotic symptoms when Ma'chello's bugs got under my skin or when Urgo was implanted in our heads, for example. There was always a physiological cause to the hallucinations and delusions, and the symptoms ceased when the cause was removed."

Apparently that satisfied the machine. Hammond was still sceptical, but they could only wait and see. It was true that some shell-shocked people reacted like this; it would be unfair to presume that this Walsh was unstable because her alter ego had been very... misguided, as the Pentagon put it. However, there was also the slight diplomatic problem with the Tok'ra. He pressed the fast-forward button until he got to that memorable discussion.

"What are your feelings towards the Tok'ra?" asked Anise, after having asked her about her feelings towards the Asgard, which had proven quite positive, and the Tollan, which showed mild distrust.

"The Tok'ra have proved to be a clever ally," she simply answered, her face neutral as ever.

"Could you please tell me more?" asked Anise.

"I don't have a problem with them having a symbiote and I believe that their cause is just. We have the same goals."

Hammond had known from the sharp tone of her voice that there was a "but" coming up and that it was going to be ugly. The monitor was glowing red.

"You are still keeping something from us, are you not, Colonel Walsh?" said Anise in an extremely haughtily.

Walsh's eyes fixed the za'tarc detector icily. "Yes. I believe that it is in the best interest for the diplomatic relationship of the SGC and the Tok'ra that I keep my personal opinion of the Tok'ra to myself."

"How are we to know that you are not a za'tarc, if you do not tell us everything?" replied Anise. Clearly, animosity had developed between the two of them during the interview, and it wasn't about to get any better.

"Colonel, I think that you can speak freely," said Jacob, who was standing next to her. "Surely, your personal opinion won't affect our relationship with the SGC."

Walsh had looked up at Hammond, her eyes clearly asking for some kind of consent. Hammond had nodded at her. After all, Anise was right: she could have been hiding something important.

"Very well. Apart from a few of them, I have very little patience for the Tok'ra. I was curious about their abilities and technology at first, and was willing to share my inferior–" she said the word venomously "–understanding of symbiote biology. But on several occasions we were sent on missions without knowing the full details, and I resent this unwillingness to share information."

She stopped, and took a deep breath. That was the first time in three hours that she'd become so worked up. She was still pale as ever.

"The detector indicates that you are still not telling the complete truth," said Anise.

Hammond could see Walsh's jaw tensing as she ground her teeth. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as if to calm herself.

"You must make eye contact with the device, Colonel Walsh," said Anise coolly.

Walsh opened her eyes again and stared in Anise's direction.

"I have a personal grudge against Anise. Other than the fact that I have serious doubts about the efficiency of the devices she invents or discovers, I hold her personally responsible for the death of my teammates. She withheld vital information about the armbands and had a secret agenda which led the rest of SG-1 to their death. In my opinion she embodies both the careless, amoral scientist and the inhumane Goa'uld that we sometimes glimpse when dealing with the Tok'ra."

There was a deadly silence in the room. Anise stood up and turned away from Walsh, clearly upset. Jacob was staring at the ground; Hammond couldn't tell if he'd been trying to refrain from shooting Walsh, or if he'd been snickering. He'd found out later that it had been the latter, fortunately. It was hard for Hammond not to agree with Walsh, though he would have rather not voiced those concerns to the Tok'ra's face.

That was when Walsh had suffered from a violent migraine. Anise had just recovered from the shock of being so deeply insulted, and had confirmed that the detector now read clear. But Dr Fraiser had noticed that Walsh was practically rocking on her seat, eyes half-shut.

"You okay in there, Colonel?" she asked.

"Damn migraine," Walsh muttered.

She was ashen and clammy. That was when Dr Fraiser had gone out to give her a shot of something or other and had muttered about keeping her patients strapped in chairs for so long. Walsh had got over it slowly, and been able to resume the questioning. In those four hours, it had been the only moment where she'd showed any kind of vulnerability, any sign that her words weren't devoid of all meaning.

Hammond sighed and rubbed his forehead. Dr Fraiser was right, the help of a specialist seemed like a good idea, for Walsh's sanity or lack thereof as well as to sort out whatever was going on with Colonel O'Neill.

Of course, there was the slight problem of O'Neill disliking Dr MacKenzie but then, O'Neill didn't enjoy medical interference of any kind. Walsh had also seemed very haughty when she'd spoken of MacKenzie, implying that he was incompetent. In fact, one thing that had clearly transpired from getting go know Walsh better was that she was a smartass who thought that she knew better than anybody else, very much like Colonel O'Neill. Well, they would both have to swallow some of that pride, and cooperate.


	6. Chapter 6

O'Neill sat in the office with his eyes resolutely fixed straight ahead and his jaw clamped shut. He knew that he was gripping the armrest too hard and could feel the leather squeak under his fingers. Walsh was sitting in another armchair next to him; she hadn't said a word since they'd come in.

"So," said Dr MacKenzie, obviously trying to break the leaden silence. "Does either of you know why you're here?"

"No, but next time the Air Force decides that I've done something really bad, I'd rather have a court-martial," replied O'Neill.

"Why do you believe that we're here to punish you, Jack? Are you feeling guilty about something?"

O'Neill rolled his eyes, and heard Walsh snort derisively. He knew that sound very well. He just wondered who the target of her sarcasm was.

"What's so funny, Margaret?"

O'Neill sneered. If she was like the Walsh he'd known, that was going to piss her off. There had been fireworks the time he'd tried it.

"I'm not comfortable with your calling me by my first name," said Walsh icily.

Yep, same old Walsh.

"How should I address you, then?"

"I believe Dr Walsh is still adequate. Ms Walsh if you want to feel superior."

Same attitude, too. That really bugged O'Neill. How could he consider this woman different from the Walsh he'd known, when she was so damn similar?

MacKenzie had a very bad poker face, and O'Neill could tell that Walsh's comment had irked him. When something annoyed him, he'd put on a sort of patronising smile, which was probably supposed to look friendly, but actually looked scary.

"Then would you like to tell me what you found so amusing in my previous question, Ms Walsh?"

"Let's just say that asking Colonel O'Neill Freudian questions will get you nowhere. Actually, any type of direct questioning is very unlikely to yield any results."

Damn her! What she said may be true, but she had no right to know him so well.

"How do you know that this man and the Colonel O'Neill in your dimension are the same?"

O'Neill waited for the smartass answer, thinking that watching a pair of psychiatrists rip into each other could be fun, especially if they forgot all about him in the meantime. But she didn't answer. For some reason, that question seemed to have shut her up.

"Why the silence, Ms Walsh?" said MacKenzie after a moment.

"I don't," she answered quietly.

"You don't...?"

She rolled her eyes and let out an irritated sigh. "I don't know. The only O'Neill that I do know is... was the one in my dimension. I have no idea what's going through this one's mind."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"How do you think it makes me feel?" she snapped.

"What I think isn't important, Marg- Ms Walsh."

"Well, the fact that he appears to hate me makes me feel confused and uncomfortable," she said with a kind of tone that closed up all further discussion.

MacKenzie took it as a cue to turn towards O'Neill. "Jack, I hear that you've indeed been very hostile towards Ms Walsh. Would you care to explain why?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

This was getting tedious. "Because it's none of your business, Doc."

"You do realise that being uncooperative and apparently irrational will reflect badly on your next psychological evaluation, Colonel?"

"How come she gets to be called Ms Walsh and you still can't decide if you want to call me Jack or Colonel? It's kind of confusing," replied O'Neill. He nearly expected her to laugh. She didn't, though, and for some reason, that was disappointing.

MacKenzie stared at him for a moment with his fake smile, and then turned back to Walsh. "Ms Walsh, you know I'm doing this for your own good. Repressed emotions are a burden, and I know that there is a lot that you're holding back from us."

She snorted. "Repressed emotions?"

"Yes. I'd like to see the real Ms Walsh, not the one who's hiding behind that controlled façade. Ultimately, it's unhealthy to be in denial–"

"Well, it must be. I hear that there are crocodiles at this time of the year," said O'Neill. He had no idea why that had come out. He could have just let her squirm while he lectured her. Why did he have to come and break the tension with stupid jokes?

"Crocodiles?" said MacKenzie, completely taken aback.

"It's a pun," said Walsh, in a strangely soft voice. "A play on words with the Nile, in Egypt."

Something seemed off, with her, her tone was... hollow, as if she wasn't all there. He'd never heard that from Walsh before.

"Did you and Colonel O'Neill share jokes, back in your dimension?"

"Of course we did. It was Jack's way of coping with just about anything."

Jack? Really? That felt... bizarre. Wasn't he her CO?

MacKenzie had also picked up on it. "You called your commanding officer by his first name?"

"Ah... crap."

O'Neill cast a sidelong glance at her. He hadn't noticed the slight sheen of sweat on her face before, or the way she clutched at the armrests as if she was going to fall out of he chair any minute.

"Ms Walsh, I think that your Freudian slip would be a good starting point for a conversation about your relationship with the Colonel, don't you?"

She sighed. "We were friends."

"How close friends were you, Margaret?"

O'Neill expected her to glare and spit out some venomous answer. She didn't. Her lips were clamped into a fine, white line, and she stared at the ground. It wasn't like her to be unable to talk. Maybe it was an act. Why not, after all? Walsh was devious, perhaps she was playing fragile to hide that she'd tried to kill him and take his place as SG-1's commanding officer.

"I'd be lying if I said that our relationship was purely professional. Over time, we became friends and confided in each other. SG-1 was a tight-knit team, and I sometimes called the Colonel by his first name when we were off-duty."

It was hard not to snort, but O'Neill knew that if he made a sound, he'd attract MacKenzie's attention and be in trouble. He just couldn't buy that someone who spoke so coldly and carefully could know what "confiding" and "tight-knit" really meant.

"So your relationship with the rest of SG-1 was the same as with the Colonel?"

Walsh was blinking a hell of a lot, her usual tick when something bothered her. Then her chair suddenly scraped loudly on the floor as she got out of her seat and started pacing the room.

"Oh screw this," she muttered. "I'm know what you're trying to make me say."

"Margaret..."

"Don't call me that!"

She stopped pacing and stood with her back to them, staring blankly at a bookshelf. O'Neill thought that he saw her tremble. Either she was pulling an Oscar-winning performance, or she really was stressed out.

"You're not going to leave me in peace until I say it, are you?" Her voice was hushed, it was like she was speaking to herself.

What the hell was all this? O'Neill wanted to ask them to cut the crap and just get to the point already, since they both obviously knew something he didn't. But he didn't want MacKenzie on his case, so he kept his mouth shut.

"All right, fine," she said at last, turning around, facing them again. "We occasionally had sex."

That came as a surprise. Not so much by what she'd said, but that she'd given in to MacKenzie. It hadn't taken him long to wear her down.

And now he felt MacKenzie's eyes on him. He didn't move a muscle, kept his face schooled in the most neutral expression he could. He wasn't going to give that damn shrink anything to interpret.

"With each other?" he said at last. He knew the answer, but it was a good way of buying some time.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"Because if I don't, he probably will." She nodded towards MacKenzie, and winced slightly, as if the movement had been painful.

"I just believe that it's good to clear the air," said MacKenzie. "It seems that in both dimensions, the two of you had relationships that strongly affected you. We're here to get to the bottom of it."

"Sure, right," she muttered.

"How do you feel about what you did with your Colonel O'Neill?"

For a moment, she was immobile. Then, very slowly, she looked at MacKenzie, contempt written in every feature.

"Did you feel good about it? Guilty?" MacKenzie prompted.

"It was against the regulations, but we were both professionals," she answered at last. "As far as we could tell, it never affected the chain of command, team morale, or anything else."

"But how did you feel?"

Oh jeez, this was getting painful to watch. O'Neill hated second-hand embarrassment and he was getting it by the bucketful right now.

"What do you want me to tell you? We were friends who slept together. It was comforting," she said, louder than was necessary, her tone bordering on hysterical.

And that was the thing. She was breaking. The Walsh he knew would have fought viciously until she had the upper hand, he was sure of it. This one was giving up. God, he hated this situation. He hated the fact that this was a different Walsh. At least he thought that he had the one he knew sussed out.

"Were you in love?"

O'Neill's jaw dropped. That wasn't a word that he'd expected to hear in relation to Walsh. She flinched at the question, physically flinched. Then she screwed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead with a long sigh.

"Why does my use of the word love disturb you, Ms Walsh?"

She made no answer. It looked as if she had no words. Actually, she looked like she was going to throw up.

"Maybe because it's a pretty big leap to say that if two officers are fraternizing, then they're in love?" said O'Neill. Damn his stupid mouth, but the tension was becoming unbearable.

"Really? It's such a great risk for one's career, though, that one would need a good reason to be doing it, don't you think, Jack?"

"Me? I don't think." He gave MacKenzie his best clueless face.

There was no way in hell he'd answer that. Sure, sleeping with colleagues was a risk for everyone's career, for their marriage, for the team. And it still happened. It had still happened to him. It was dumb, sure, but he wasn't all that shocked that an O'Neill somewhere had messed around with a teammate.

"How do you feel about his response, Ms Walsh?"

She shrugged. "Unsurprised."

"So you don't you have any reaction at all to this these revelations, Colonel?"

"Yeah, I've got a question. Did she give the same answers to the za'tarc detector?"

"I viewed the footage and she said something very similar."

"So this is the truth?"

"According to my notes, the discussion about your relationship didn't yield entirely satisfactory results. Ms Walsh suggested that the detector was perhaps not sophisticated enough to evaluate conflicting or complex emotions, something with which I'd agree, as a psychiatrist."

"So basically, she may hate my guts and be planning to kill me, for all I know."

"No, Anise asked her that and–"

"Do I look like I want to kill you?" snarled Walsh between her teeth.

They both looked at Walsh, who seemed to be swaying, face pinched and eyes narrowed in what O'Neill knew was the expression of someone in pain. She looked like death warmed up.

"Well, you sound like you do, but you look like you'd barely be able to hold a gun." This was... weird, to say the least.

"What's wrong, Ms Walsh? You seem distressed."

She gave a haughty bark of laughter. "What's wrong? Apart from the fact you pushed me to tackle a subject that I wanted to keep private? Well, I'm tired and I have a very bad headache, so if you're satisfied..."

"The hour's up, anyway. But I will be seeing you next week to discuss this more extensively. It will also give Colonel O'Neill time to take in the information."

"Swell," muttered O'Neill, standing up. "C'mon, Walsh, let's get you back to your padded cell."

Hammond had told him not to bait her, but it was irresistible. But she didn't react to his comment. She just stood still in, as if she were frozen there. O'Neill glared back at her, and motioned for her to follow him, striding to the door and opening it wide.

Behind him, he heard MacKenzie starting to scribble down notes, and he guessed that the word "uncooperative" would be used more than once. He didn't give a damn, though. There was no way he would give either of them the satisfaction.

The guard stood at attention and saluted, but O'Neill didn't really notice. Walsh was lagging behind, wavering as she walked.

"Perhaps you should go to the infirmary, Margaret..." started MacKenzie.

She shook her head and sped up. She was unsteady, like someone trying to hide that they were drunk. Before MacKenzie could say more, she closed the door behind her. O'Neill had half-expected her to slam it, but it clicked quietly into place. Something was definitely wrong with her.

* * *

Walsh had been naïve enough to believe that, after the last few months' events, nothing worse could happen to her. She'd been wrong. This was worse.

Not being stranded in a world where O'Neill apparently hated her, or being interrogated, or having lost Riley. That was just part of the streak of bad luck she seemed to be stuck in. She could have coped with all that if it hadn't been for the physical symptoms that had started plaguing her the last few days.

Her head felt like it was going to explode. It was as if it were filled with electric noise that sometimes concentrated into lightning bolts to her brain. With every step she took, she could see the room lurch and roll. Lucky she'd skipped breakfast or it would be on the floor right now. It was hard to keep up with O'Neill, but he was the only stable figure in the mess in front of her eyes.

She was terrified. She'd had panic attacks, but this was far beyond that. Something had to be wrong with her brain... vertigo, nausea, massive headaches, and now the electric shock sensations... she was too confused to figure it out, her, a damn neurologist! That terrified her. Was this how temporal failure set in? Was it damaging her brain, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of her?

The ground under her feet suddenly felt as if it moved, and she gripped the wall for support. O'Neill turned towards her. He'd been walking a few feet ahead of her, and he came back. She screwed her eyes shut to stop the awful fluctuations in the lighting and the strange movement of the corridor.

"Walsh, what the hell are you doing?"

She couldn't answer. Her throat was closed in a vice. Everything seemed to be vibrating and thudding, and yet another shock went through her brain. She pressed a hand to her forehead; it was drenched with sweat.

"Walsh, quit messing around," snapped O'Neill impatiently. "Are you sick?"

"I need to lie down," she mumbled, hating herself for saying it in front of him.

It was a miracle that he understood her and grabbed her elbow when her legs suddenly gave way right there in the damn corridor. He supported her, helped her sit on the floor. He mustn't. It was making things worse, confusing everything in her mind.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know, sir." Oh crap, had she really called him that?

"You can do better than that."

"I think the temporal failure is kicking in."

"I didn't see you do that freaky morphing thing."

"Then you tell me!"

She'd screamed. She'd actually found the strength scream at him, loud enough for him to recoil slightly. Something was bursting inside of her. She couldn't keep it in any longer, all the anger, the frustration, the grief, the humiliation...

"You fucking tell me, O'Neill! Tell me why everyone is treating me like a criminal! Tell me why I get to be interrogated again and again about my private life! Tell me why you're talking to me like I'm the worst kind of shit you've ever met! And please, _please_ tell me why it feels like my brain is rigged up to a freaking naquadah reactor, because I don't have a clue and it's driving me insane!'"

Her voice had gone into the highest pitches by the end of her outburst before cracking and dying down. There were footsteps coming towards her, probably guards checking on them. She felt something warm drip down her face – tears. Walsh closed her eyes once more and nestled against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.

She had to be rational about this. There was nothing left anymore, nothing to keep her going, no she needed to protect or care for. She should let nature take its course, just... let go, find some peace. But that damn survival instinct was still going strong.

"O-kay," said O'Neill. "This is the part where I call for a med-team." He proceeded to tell one of the guards to go get someone from the infirmary.

"I don't think they'll be able to help me. Pretty sure this is the end of the road."

He was quiet for a moment. "What was it you said about your brain being rigged to a reactor?"

"That's how it feels. Fuzzy and crackling... with the occasional surge. Hurts like hell. Can't wait for it to be over."

"Huh."

The silence was good. And he was close by. It was comforting, even if she knew that this O'Neill hated her; as long as he shut his mouth, she could pretend. And although the headache was still there, thumping away, there weren't any shocks anymore.

"You feeling achy?"

It took some time for her to understand that he was addressing her, let alone what he meant. She looked at him blankly.

"Muscle aches? The kind you get with the flu?"

"There isn't a part of my body that isn't aching, Colonel. Don't ask me why. Beats me. And I'm a doctor."

"Were you taking pills?"

She frowned, confused by his sudden interest in her health.

"Before you came here, were you on something?"

"I was taking an antidepressant."

"Of course you were."

"So what?"

He didn't answer, and the nurses showed up with a gurney at that point. She made an effort to stand, acutely feeling Jack's – _O'Neill_ 's, not Jack's – on her elbow, helping her onto the gurney. One thing was sure, she'd never understand him. Perhaps this was reassuring. Some things didn't change from one dimension to another.


	7. Chapter 7

Daniel had just grabbed cookies and coffee when he spotted Jack in the mess. It was late. He'd planned to stay in for the night with a large stone slab from P4C-528 with inscriptions that looked very much like oghamic inscriptions. Jack usually went home at night, unless he had paperwork to finish. But he didn't look like he was doing paperwork. Actually, he was stabbing a doughnut with a straw. The typical O'Neill cry for help.

"Is it dead yet?" asked Daniel, sitting down by Jack.

Jack suddenly jerked towards him. "Huh? Who's dead?"

"Your doughnut. Looks like it's lost a lot of... jam."

"Shaddup, Daniel," muttered Jack with a slight smile in his eyes.

"Maybe Janet can patch it up."

"Huh."

"Didn't you have to see MacKenzie today..."

"Yeah." Jack jabbed the doughnut again.

"Did you manage to get him to do that freaky smile of his?"

Jack didn't take his eyes off the mutilated pastry. "Wasn't hard."

"Jack!" Daniel was getting annoyed with the monosyllable routine. Jack was clearly mulling over something important, and he wouldn't be doing it in public if he didn't somehow want help.

"Walsh told him how to do his job and forbade him to call her by her first name. Then I asked him why he was still calling me Jack and not Colonel. He did the freaky smile thing. I think we pissed him off."

"I wish I'd been there to see that," said Daniel with a smirk. He didn't like MacKenzie either, especially not after his little stay in a padded cell. He found the shrink patronising and too closed-minded to really work well in unusual situations.

"He got Walsh to talk about her feelings or whatever." Jack's voice sounded a bit hollow. Not a good sign.

"Was it bad?"

Jack sighed and rubbed his face. "I dunno."

"Well, does she hate you? Is she insane? What?"

He grunted and prodded the doughnut some more. "She's in the infirmary now."

"What?" A shudder of panic went through Daniel. Had Jack lost it and got into a fight? If he had, there would be endless trouble with Hammond, probably a court-martial, he could get suspended...

"She kinda broke down after we were with MacKenzie, made a scene." He shook his head. "Should have known better."

"What do you mean?" asked Daniel, still feeling cold sweat tingling on his spine.

"Remember how you were, after all the sarcophagus treatments? The withdrawal?"

"Yeah..." And another patented Jack O'Neill non-sequitur. He just loved changing the subject when it got uncomfortable.

"When you were pointing that gun at me, I told you that I knew what it was like. D'you remember that?"

"I do." Now he slowly started to see the link with Walsh. Had she got Jack hooked on something? It looked like she'd done that to a large number of her own recruits, after all...

"They call them happy-pills, but when you come off them, sometimes there can be hell to pay."

"What, you mean like Prozac, or...?"

"It was after Charlie died, they prescribed this antidepressant to 'stabilise' me, so that I didn't go nuts on Abydos. After a while, when I'd retired, I stopped taking it. Never liked what it did to me."

Jack was carefully avoiding eye contact as Daniel listened intently. He still wondered where Walsh came into the equation, but it had become secondary. Jack sharing anything this personal was generally a big event.

"I thought I was going to go nuts. There were these massive headaches, sweating, trembling, throwing up... It got so bad that I wanted to put a bullet through my skull. I dunno why I called her. I was confused and sick, and she was a doctor. I guess I kinda trusted her."

"Walsh?"

"Yeah. I... she was a shrink and we disagreed on most things, but... well, she wasn't so bad. She figured out what was wrong with me pretty fast and helped me through it." He stabbed the jammy mess in front of him one last time, before dropping the straw.

Daniel was at a complete loss. He thought that Jack was going to explain why he disliked Walsh so much. Instead, he was saying that he liked her, sort of.

"I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this, Jack."

"Walsh started getting the same symptoms this afternoon. Looks like she never got to look after me, in her world. She thought she was doing the temporal failure thing, but it didn't look the same as... well, anyhow, I figured out it was because of the pills she'd been on. How ironic is that?"

"It's... still very confusing," answered Daniel. "I'm sorry, Jack, I must have missed something, because last time I checked, you hated her guts. And now you're helping out with her treatment?" Just when you started to think that Jack was predictable in his own quirky way, he pulled something like this.

"The Maggie I knew, she changed. Became cold, shut off."

There was a pause. Daniel took in all the implications the word "Maggie" held. Patients didn't usually call their doctor by their first name, and in the military, surname-only was usually the standard.

"She just skipped town one day. The next I hear of her, four years later, she had some kind of crazy project going in California and got herself killed."

"And you're pissed off... because she bailed on you?"

Jack grunted vaguely.

Well, that did make sense, in a way. Charlie was dead, Sara had left, and Jack wasn't really the sociable type. If Walsh had disappeared during that delicate phase, it probably hadn't helped much. Daniel remembered how irritable and sensitive Jack had been during their first year or so together in SG-1. And he had a bunch of abandonment issues. Things were starting to look a little clearer.

"This Walsh, the one who's here now..." Jack sighed "I know she's not the same as the one I knew. But it doesn't mean she might not be just as unpredictable. It's not like I'm the only one who's paranoid about her, the Pentagon's wary too."

Daniel nodded. It was pretty convenient for Jack, wasn't it? It was so much easier to hide hurt feelings behind some security concern. And of course, much easier to avoid facing up to them than trying to resolve them.

"So why did you help with her treatment?" asked Daniel.

"It seemed like the right thing to do. I don't get kicks out of seeing people in pain. Looks like I'm a sucker after all." He sighed wearily.

"Maybe this Walsh will be a better friend than the other was?"

Jack pulled a face. "I don't want to find out. I'll be civil... well, I'll try. Best I can do."

"Okay... and, well, since she's here to stay, will you be upset if we get friendly with her?"

O'Neill sighed and rubbed his face. "Fraiser already looks like she loves her. I think it's all that neurological babble, it's some kind of kinky MD bonding language."

Daniel nearly choked on his coffee. "Filthy mental image!"

"What?" said Jack with a mischievous glint in his eye. "I said bonding, not bondage."

"I know what you said, it's the way you said it."

"Anyhow, I guess Walsh will probably worm her way into here... if she recovers. They're still not really clear with the za'tarc detector, you know."

"I thought she'd been cleared," said Daniel, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, except where it comes to me. MacKenzie said something about complex emotions not getting read right. They both assure me that she doesn't want to kill me though."

"Well, considering that even your friends end up wanting to kill you at some point in their relationship with you, I'd say that's where the za'tarc detector could sense a lie."

"Hey!"

Daniel gave Jack his best snotty expression. Jack gave him the evil eye. Well, it looked like everything was falling back into place. Hopefully, Jack would become more bearable as time went by.

* * *

Walsh stirred when she heard voices in the background. She felt groggy and nauseous, as usual. The headache had subsided though. It felt as though she hadn't slept at all, or rather, that she'd been sleeping in the tumbler of a washing-machine, and she had no idea if hours or days had gone by since she'd been brought into the infirmary. She closed her eyes again, and listened to Janet talking to the nurse in the infirmary.

"... Major Wade's wound is bleeding again, I changed the dressing but..." She heard them shuffle towards him to take a look.

Walsh couldn't see them. She'd been put in a corner of the infirmary, behind a screen that offered a little privacy. Walsh vaguely recollected having shouted, in the midst of a panic attack, that she didn't want to be seen in that state. The fact that O'Neill was staring at her certainly hadn't helped her feel at ease. This was better, she didn't want to face people looking at her with suspicion or, worse yet, pity. Which they were going to do as soon as she got out of the infirmary, after her little outburst in the corridor.

"How has Dr Walsh been?" asked Dr Fraiser.

"She hasn't eaten anything, so I put in an IV as you asked. She's got tremors and I don't think she's slept much."

Walsh stared down at her arm. She couldn't even recall when they'd stuck that needle into her. Well, she probably needed it. She didn't feel like she could keep anything down, at the moment.

Janet soon appeared, holding a portfolio in one hand. She stood by the screen for a moment, and Walsh felt that she was assessing her. Janet's was the only gaze she could stand. It felt professional, and unprejudiced. She was the only one who didn't treat her as if she were a new type of dangerous alien.

"Hey?" said Fraiser softly. "How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm not going to die yet, apparently."

"Feeling depressed?" Fraiser pulled up a chair and sat down to face Walsh.

"Confused. I hate feeling confused." She started trembling again as she spoke and cursed her stupid body.

"Did you manage to sleep?"

"I'm not sure. It doesn't feel like it."

"Perhaps we'll give you stronger sedation. You need to rest."

"Jan–" she shook her head and sighed. She couldn't call her that. It wasn't her world. "Dr Fraiser, it's hard for me to tell what's going on here."

"Apart from the withdrawal symptoms?" asked Fraiser with a smile.

"I wish I'd seen those for what they were. It would have spared me some embarrassment."

"You're embarrassed? You told me you were taking an SSRI, you said you had migraines, and I had to be reminded about SSRI discontinuation syndrome by Colonel O'Neill, of all people!"

Walsh couldn't help but laugh. "That was really out of left field."

"The Colonel helping you?"

"Yes. Ever since I got here, he and... well, most people really have been treating me as if I'm some sort of criminal. I wish I knew why, because..."

She didn't want to say it. Because it hurt. Her skin was usually thicker than that, or at least she liked to think so. She felt so vulnerable, after everything that had happened in the last few months, and with these stupid symptoms.

Fraiser was looking at her quietly, thoughtfully. Walsh suspected that she knew why everyone here was afraid of her; in Walsh's world, Hammond frequently trusted her with highly sensitive information.

"I suppose it's classified," muttered Walsh, sighing and stretching her sore back.

"Actually, I got permission from General Hammond to tell you what you'd like to know."

Walsh straightened, feeling a glimmer of hope. The questions she'd asked – screamed at – O'Neill at the height of her little panic attack were still running through her head, and she'd give anything to make them stop.

Fraiser seemed to notice Walsh's eager expression. "That is, _if_ I consider that you're in an adequate state to hear about it."

Walsh snorted. "Do you think that I could get worse? I need to know what's going on, it's driving me crazy."

"All right," said Fraiser, opening up the folder she was carrying. "Shall we go over it together?"

"Please."

Fraiser's company was welcome, if only to convince Walsh that she wasn't dreaming. The resume was similar to hers until her mid-twenties, where this dimension's Walsh had never enrolled in the Air Force and had gone on to work in the experimental neurobiology field, until her collaboration with the military in the 90ies.

It was harder for Walsh to take in the meaning of the NID's files, which were a record of the Initiative Project. Her alter ego had apparently been commissioned to study "subterrestrial hostiles", and to create "super soldiers" by drugging up young recruits and tinkering with their nervous system. The final goal of the project was to build a prototype out of various cybernetic, human and subterrestrial parts.

Walsh had trouble concentrating on the paper; it was starting to distress her. The name of Riley Finn, which popped up at regular intervals, wasn't helping. She could feel the electric headache creep back into her skull.

Her counterpart had finally attempted to terminate a young woman who was getting too curious. Professor Walsh had then been killed in an unrelated accident involving her own creation, which she apparently referred to as her "child".

"I can't believe this," she muttered.

"Does it look familiar?"

"Somewhat. I received a thesis on subterrestrials from this Dr Angelman before the Stargate project was re-opened. I was studying the Goa'uld at the time, so I never had a chance to get back to him." She leafed through the pages again. "The Initiative Project seems..."

"Demented?"

Walsh nodded.

"Looks like Professor Walsh and Dr Angelman were trying to play Dr Frankenstein. And that never ends well."

"Yes. I've seen some sick things created by the Goa'uld and other races... and I did some rather unethical experiments myself, but it never went that far..."

Walsh wondered just how much the people in this dimension could accept it. She'd worked on Jaffa and their Goa'uld symbiotes until they died. She was following orders, of course, but knowing their relationship with Apophis' First Prime – Teal'c, was it? – there was a good chance that they had more respect for the life of Goa'uld symbiotes in this world than they'd had in hers.

"Apparently a prototype for the anti-violence chip is still being developed..."

Janet's voice sounded distant, Walsh's body had started to tremble uncontrollably. Her head was pounding and buzzing, and she bit her lip to keep in a moan as a violent shudder went up her spine and into her brain. It was unbearable. She faintly heard Janet's voice and felt her warm hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her down on the bed. Walsh grabbed at her, as if having a hold on Janet would stop the pain and panic that overwhelmed her.

Minutes passed, tremors turned to faint trembling and the electric storm in Walsh's head returned to a low buzz.

"Well, wasn't that a fun ride," gasped Walsh, when she trusted herself enough to talk without her stomach heaving. She noticed that Janet had a syringe in her hand and had probably injected her with a sedative. She was tired, now, everything was fuzzy.

Janet gave her a small sympathetic smile. "According to the information I have, most cases of withdrawal improve a couple of weeks after the subject last took the medication. Or, well, we could put you on another SSRI and taper it off."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather tough it out and wait for the withdrawal symptoms to pass on their own."

"Are you sure? Some people take longer than others to recover from withdrawal."

Walsh nodded. She'd had enough of the pills even before she left; the fact that she'd forgotten to ask for a new prescription was probably a sign that she wanted out.

"Well, all right. But if I don't see improvement within a week, we'll do it my way. And in the meantime I'd like to keep an eye on you in here."

"But I'm not in any dang–"

"Ah!" Fraiser glowered at Walsh, waving the empty syringe to emphasise that she wouldn't take any objections, her face set in immutable resolve.

It was funny, and so typical of Janet that Walsh burst out laughing. She hadn't expected the laughter to dissolve into tears a few moments later. She quickly swiped her hand across her face, laughing and sobbing at the same time.

It was so hard. They all looked so much like her friends that there were moments when she felt they were there... and then she realised that they'd gone, that the person facing her was a stranger. It would have been disturbing even if her team had still been alive, in her world; with them dead, it was unbearable.

"Sometimes I just wish I'd stayed there," she said, practically to herself. "You'll never be my SGC."

Janet laid a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps we aren't your SGC, but I'm here to help you out of this. And if you're going to stay here, you'd better get used to us."

Her words sunk in slowly. "Am I really going to be kept here in the long term?"

"President's orders. If you'll share your knowledge and experience, you're free to stay. And he'd rather you did, you know our policy about people who know about the Stargate Project."

Walsh nodded. It was good, better than she'd hoped, but somehow she felt even more lost than before. "I'm not sure I'll be able to cope."

"We'll see about that. First, how do you want me to call you?" asked Janet. "You're not considered an officer until you reapply to our dimension's Air Force, so I can call you Dr Walsh. Or whatever you–"

"Maggie." The name came out unexpectedly, and Walsh cringed. She must have sounded so desperate.

"Right, Maggie. You can call me Janet, if that's what you're used to calling me."

Tears prickled her eyes. "It's... it's pretty familiar."

"I don't mind one bit," said Janet with a soothing smile. "And now I'd like you to try and sleep."

Maggie felt tears run down her cheek, and some of the soreness in her chest shifted just a little. She closed her eyes and relinquished Janet's arm, letting herself relax at last. This wasn't home yet, but it would do for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little comment on antidepressants and psychiatrists. If they're portrayed quite negatively at times it's for the purpose of my story only – and mostly because Walsh and O'Neill are stubborn asses (and MacKenzie isn't exactly shown as competent on the show, either). I personally have a lot of respect for the profession and believe that psychiatry is mostly beneficial to patients. SSRI withdrawal is a real thing, but it wasn't really addressed in the media before the 2000s.


	8. Chapter 8

Kawalsky carefully surveyed the mess hall's selection of wonderful foods. There was something that looked like beef stew, mashed potatoes, roast chicken, Salisbury steak, something Asian-ish with prawns, several types of salads which probably appealed to the rabbits and perhaps the ladies on base, and some kind of orange gunk that was supposed to be macaroni and cheese. He went for that and a Salisbury steak.

"That's daring," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Carter.

"Hi, Major," he said. "You gonna tell me that I should eat something green every day?"

"Eh, don't knock it." She was eyeing the stew dubiously, and finally chose a salad.

"Does this count?" asked Kawalsky, picking a bowl of green Jell-o off a shelf.

Carter chuckled as she made her way to a table. "No, that's cheating."

Kawalsky followed her, although he hadn't exactly been invited. You didn't get much by playing shy, and since she was speaking to him, well... he'd take a chance. It was the first time in ten days that he got the occasion to have a casual conversation with someone he kinda knew.

"OK if I sit here?" he asked.

"Sure."

He settled down opposite her. Of course, he wasn't taking much of a risk by being friendly with Carter. As far as he could tell, she and Daniel were pretty similar to those in his world. Well, so was Jack, really; he just wasn't easy to approach. Kawalsky had to admit that Jack's attitude bummed him out a bit. It was sad, after having lost him, to be stuck with a version of him who had some kind of grudge against Walsh.

"So... aren't you missing real food?" asked Carter after a while.

"There's other food than cafeteria food?"

She grinned at him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure there is."

"The only other type I can think of is MRE meals."

"So you didn't get out of the base very often, back in your world."

"Not really. But that had its upsides," he said.

Carter raised an eyebrow, munching her salad. "Such as?"

"Well, when I go home and cook, it usually doesn't look better than this." He motioned towards the orange glop that they called macaroni.

She pulled a face but looked amused, then turned her attention back to her own plate. He wondered if she was like their Carter: smart, beautiful and talented, the object of a thousand crushes, and too obsessed with her job – or a certain Colonel maybe – to find any time for personal stuff. Not that he'd tried it with her back there. He was pretty sure Jack would have kicked his ass, if Carter hadn't done it herself.

"So I heard that you're doing evaluations to be Major again?"

"That's right. I thought I might get demoted, so I'm pretty happy about it. Then I'll be joining SG-8."

"How's Dr Walsh doing?"

"Eh, they let her out of the infirmary today. She's not 100% yet, but better than when we got here."

Carter nodded. "That's good. And neither of you is suffering from temporal entropic cascade failure?"

"Doesn't look like it. But I guess it could just be a matter of time, right?"

"Well... I have a few theories," she smiled cautiously.

"Any of them involve us not dying?" asked Kawalsky with a wry grin.

Carter laughed a little. "Yeah, actually. Chances are that you'll be able to stay here indefinitely because you're not coexisting with another version of yourself. But I guess the death of your alter-egos might also give you some more time until failure kicks in. It could be a matter of months or years rather than days."

Kawalsky grinned at her. "Very reassuring."

"Well, I tend more towards the first theory, but we've never been able to study the phenomenon on a long-term basis."

"Anyhow we figured that a few months or years would be better than just dying, poof. At best, we thought that by dimension hopping, we could finally find a place where none of us had been born."

"That would have taken some time," she said, tucking into a piece of pie.

"Yeah. It's a strange thing, survival instinct. You don't really think much further than 'I don't want to die today'. It's probably stupid, but..." he shrugged.

"Weren't there any other people on base that you would have wanted to bring along?"

"My team had been pretty much killed off, which is why they merged SG-1 and SG-2. Walsh wasn't very attached to anyone except for Fraiser and Finn. But Fraiser had left Colorado with Cassandra, they wouldn't have had time to come in. I didn't really have a say as to who was coming and who wasn't anyway."

"Walsh seems tough, huh?"

"When she was in SG-1?" he laughed. "Oh yeah. She was a Lieutenant Colonel after all, and she didn't let me forget it."

"And then she became your CO," said Carter with a sly smile. Kawalsky remembered the first time they'd met Carter and she'd lectured them about women and sexual organs or whatever it was. Maybe they'd had a similar run-in in this universe and she hadn't forgotten about it either.

"Yeah. But that was OK, I'd known her for a long time. Lucky we stuck together, the missions they sent us on weren't that much fun."

"What kind of missions were they?"

"Generally, they sent us in to steal devices from various people so that we could tinker with them."

"How come you continued, if you disagreed so much with Maybourne's demands?"

Kawalsky shrugged. "I like to be where the action is, and so did Finn."

"What about Walsh?" There was suspicion in Carter's voice. He'd heard it several times when they referred to her. He wished he knew why.

"She was pretty much on auto-pilot. The only times where she'd actually show some kind of emotion was when Finn was in danger. She'd taken a personal interest in his career and recruited him into the program. Other than that... well, I can't read her mind or anything, but she looked pretty uninterested in what was going on around her."

Carter seemed thoughtful. Kawalsky started on his Jell-o. Looked like Carter hadn't understood the finer points of "being depressed as shit". He suspected that she might understand if he told her to imagine what life would be like without Daniel and Jack, but he didn't say anything. He was pretty sure Walsh would have his balls if he made any more references to her current emotional state. For that matter, it might reveal a bit too much about his, too.

"It must be really weird to be around people you've known for years, but who don't know you all that well," said Carter.

"Yeah. But I don't really mind making friends with you guys again. And I'm sure it'll be fairly easy with Daniel and Ferretti. But O'Neill..." he shook his head.

"He's being very suspicious–"

"He's being a jerk. I can't believe how he talks to me, or to Walsh. I have no idea what we did to him over here to make him hate our guts."

"Well, I'm not sure either. You died with that Goa'uld symbiote in you, and from what I could tell, he felt very bad about it. Actually I don't think he's got anything against you personally, it's just..."

"Walsh."

"Yeah, I guess."

"But you have no idea why." He could tell from her expression. That, and the fact that Jack didn't confide in Carter, at least not in their world. Seemed to be the same here.

"You know the Colonel... well I guess you've known him for a long time?"

"Twenty years or so," said Kawalsky.

"So why would he hold a grudge against someone?"

"Could be anything, competition, disagreements... she might have betrayed him somehow, that's usually a biggie with him. Or, you know, lovers' quarrel."

Okay that wasn't a very nice thing to say to Carter, and he could tell by her wide eyes that it shocked her. Still, given Jack and Walsh's relationship in his own dimension, it wasn't that far-fetched.

Carter smiled stiffly, getting out of her seat. "I guess we'll never really know. And I've got to go, the lab calls."

"Have fun," he said as she walked away.

Kawalsky smiled. It was good to be back. Somehow, even if it meant that he was going to die of that weird failure thing, he wouldn't have wanted things to turn out differently. At least he'd die somewhere familiar, and with familiar goop as his last meal.

* * *

Carter tapped on her computer, trying to correct her formula. She was working on optimising a naquadah reactor, but she had probably made a mistake somewhere. Now all she needed to do was to find it – easier said than done. Someone suddenly knocked on her office's door, derailing her train of thought.

"Come in," she called.

"Major Carter?" She looked up from her computer screen to see Siler enter the room. He was followed by Teal'c, who was carrying what looked like a small insulated case.

"Oh, is that the naquadah shipment we were expecting from Edora?" They could really have done with that right now.

"Uh... no, ma'am," said Siler. "We made a discovery when we were going through the belongings of the people who came from the other dimension."

She tried to hide her disappointment. "Yes?"

"General Hammond told me to bring them to you, ma'am. They started emitting an interesting kind of electromagnetic field. We think it could be due to temporal entropic cascade failure."

"On inert objects?" asked Carter, getting off her seat.

"That's right, ma'am." He turned to Teal'c. "Could you show her, sir?"

Teal'c bowed his head and Carter cleared a section of her desk to let him open the small case. She watched intently as he opened it to reveal six US military identification tags, each encased ininsulatingfoam. She raised an eyebrow.

"You say that they're emitting an EM field?"

"Some of them, ma'am," said Siler, as she retrieved a Geiger counter.

"And you needed Teal'c's help to carry them? Are they heavier than they should be?" The readings of the Geiger counter were normal.

"No, ma'am, that wasn't the problem." Siler showed her his hands. One of his palms had a red, blistering, dog-tag-shaped burn on it. The other was also scalded to a lesser degree. He must have been burnt while handling the tags. Not surprising that he'd needed Teal'c's help to transport the case.

"They must be heating up due to molecular instability. Whoa!" She'd clearly seen a pair of tags vibrate and ripple, and then heat came up from it. Incredible. She delicately retrieved one of them with some pliers.

"Yeah, that's when it heats up," said Siler. "It sort of phase-shifts or something and then there's a heat surge. I didn't notice until it was too late."

"That's fascinating." Carter stuck the identification tag under the microscope. After several minutes, a small ripple blurred the letters on the tag. Siler was right; there was some kind of phase-shifting or perhaps molecular rearrangement involved.

"It doesn't seem to be degrading yet." She started jotting down notes. "Are these Kawalsky's?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. Those are also phase-shifting, but not as often." Siler sounded uneasy. "Those are Colonel O'Neill's."

Carter blinked, and looked at the tags placed on her microscope. Siler was right. The tags read "O'NEILL, JACK", followed by the Colonel's information. Carter finally pulled her eyes away from the pieces of metal. "How is this possible, Sergeant?"

"Well, ma'am, Colonel Walsh had them with her when she came through the gate. They were in her pack with some other personal belongings."

Carter frowned, staring at them hard, but not just because they were phase-shifting.

"Major Carter, is it not forbidden for someone else to carry these tags?" asked Teal'c.

"Sure is. They should have either been on the Colonel or returned to the Pentagon." More importantly, how would Walsh have got her hands on them? When would the Colonel ever have let her take them from him?

Teal'c also approached, scowling slightly, and took a look at the dog tags. He remained silent for a long moment, as if close inspection would yield any answers.

Carter was confused and, somehow, angry. Kawalsky's last comment started echoing in her head, but that still didn't make sense. He wouldn't have given them to her. Nobody would have let her take them after he'd died... not if they'd seen her do it, anyway.

"I'm calling the General," she muttered, picking up her phone and dialling Hammond's office.

"Hammond?" said the General's voice, after a couple of rings.

"General, this is Major Carter. I just received the ID tags you sent me."

"Yes, Major, I was expecting your call," said the General. He sounded somewhat wary.

"I'm just a little worried about Dr Walsh having Colonel O'Neill's tags."

"I know it's irregular, Major. We raised the issue when we interviewed her and were satisfied with her response."

And apparently he wasn't going to tell her what the response was, so it obviously wasn't something straightforward. Still, Walsh was being cleared to work with them, so the reasons couldn't be all that sinister, could they?

"I understand, sir."

"For the time being, Colonel O'Neill doesn't know anything about the tags, and I would like it to stay that way. Is that clear, Major?"

"Sir." Oh god, she hated that kind of order. Secrets weren't her forte.

"He's trying to work out his differences with Walsh. There seems to be some progress on that front, I wouldn't want it to go to waste."

"Of course, sir."

She just really hoped that the General knew what he was doing. Nobody had fooled a za'tarc detector so far, but it didn't mean that couldn't happen. If Walsh hadn't taken the tags for sentimental reasons, they could have been some kind of creepy trophy. Carter wasn't sure which solution she liked the least.

"And in the meantime, I'm sure that these ID tags will be very interesting for your research on temporal paradoxes."

"Yes, it looks like it. Thank you for sending them here, sir."

"All right. I'm counting on your discretion, Major." And he hung up.

Carter frowned. Okay, Walsh seemed weak, she may really have been ill, but none of this could rule out the possibility that she was also messing with all of them. That was what the Colonel kept on repeating, after all. And what if she had some kind of mental condition that trumped the za'tarc detector?

"What do you think Teal'c?"

"I believe that we must remain cautious regarding Dr Walsh," he said, a slight frown on his face. Carter had no idea if he'd heard the phone conversation, but she nodded.

"It just seems so weird. I don't see under which circumstances this could be excused. Taking something from a dead officer..."

"You do not know that Colonel O'Neill was dead when the identification tags were taken, Major Carter."

"That doesn't make any sense either."

"If General Hammond accepted Dr Walsh's explanation, for the time being, we may only trust his judgement."

Carter sighed. She knew that she wasn't being quite rational; Kawalsky had offered a possible answer, and if there really had been some kind of relationship between the Colonel and Walsh in the other dimension, the General probably wouldn't have wanted people to know about it.

It was just hard for Carter to imagine O'Neill giving anyone his tags for any reason, nor could she picture Walsh with warm fuzzy feelings. The woman was so controlled and reserved that it seemed impossible. She could just about imagine her being obsessed with the Colonel and secretly stealing a keepsake, but that didn't make her seem any less creepy.

"Okay. Siler, get yourself to the infirmary."

He didn't need telling twice. Carter settled back at her desk, her eyes glued to the pieces of metal.

"I too shall take my leave," said Teal'c, bowing and walking out of her lab.

She barely nodded at him, her mind already racing, forming ideas she couldn't yet formulate but that could turn into groundbreaking discoveries about multiple dimensions. Perhaps they would never know exactly how Walsh had got these ID tags, but there was at least one mystery surrounding them that she was qualified to solve.


	9. Chapter 9

Things were starting to feel a little more normal after nearly three weeks in the SGC. Walsh had not only moved out of the infirmary, but also been put in guest quarters on Level 25, where Kawalsky and other members of SG teams were housed. She'd had a room there in her own SGC, although that seemed terribly long ago.

Of course, her room now had surveillance cameras watching her day and night, but at least they'd decided to let her move freely around levels 21 and 22, so she could go to the mess hall or the infirmary whenever she needed to. She obviously wasn't allowed anywhere near the Gate room or the armouries, and the labs were still off limits until she got full clearance. That didn't seem to be too far away, though.

Although she wasn't sure if she was ready for work yet, she was starting to get bored and had much too much time to reflect on things that weren't doing her any good. At least the symptoms of the withdrawal were dwindling; the brutal headaches often flared up around the end of the day, and she was still rather jumpy, but it was nothing like the first ten days.

And now she was making her way to her least favourite place, MacKenzie's office on Level 21. It had been two weeks since their first interview and she felt sick at the thought of having to talk about her relationship with Jack yet again, and for it to fall into the selectively-deaf ears of an O'Neill who despised her. She hadn't seen him since he'd left her in the infirmary, and she didn't know how she felt about confronting him yet again.

Walsh was startled by the klaxon blaring. From the sound it made, this wasn't an unscheduled gate activation – it was the tone they used when the base was internally compromised. The loudspeakers crackled as someone switched on a mic to make an announcement, but she only heard muffled cries and scuffling before it went out again.

She froze, trying to decide what to do. Her pass wouldn't let her down to Level 28, nor would she be able to get a weapon to defend herself. There wasn't much she _could_ do, damn it. A couple of airmen sped by her, all geared up. She watched them numbly as they went down the corridor.

"What are you doing here ma'am?" someone snapped at her. She turned to see Major Griff, who'd come up behind her with two other men from his team.

"I was going to see Dr MacKenzie." That sounded so dumb. She knew there was some kind of emergency, adrenaline was coursing all through her already, and here she was talking about stupid shrink appointments.

"Well you're not anymore. Get back to your quarters."

"What's going on?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you, now move your ass, lady!"

She bit back a sharp retort, wishing she still had the authority to snarl at lower ranking officers. With a frown, she followed Griff back towards the elevator, listening intently to what he was saying over the radio.

"... got an unexpected guest, sir. The woman from the other dimension. Walsh, yeah."

They got to the elevator. Walsh was having trouble concentrating on anything. There seemed to be a swarm of people moving in different directions, shouted orders, the sound of distant gunfire. And she suddenly had no idea how she could fit into all this, how she could help.

"We're on Level 21, sir, she was going to MacKenzie's." There was a pause. "I know, sir, I'm waiting for that damn elevator."

Walsh still tried to make sense out of what she was seeing. The men were all geared up with radios and weapons, which meant that they were prepared for whatever was going on, or had got ready real fast. And something serious had happened, something that involved the gate room. She suspected it was some kind of foothold situation.

"Look, Major," she said, "it doesn't matter where I am if the base has been compromised. I might as well help."

Gunfire and the sound of zat blasts suddenly filled a corridor just behind them, coming in their direction.

"Dammit!" Griff smacked the elevator door, then turned to another officer who'd just arrived. "Pierce, you do as we planned, I'll get her out of the way."

He grabbed Walsh's arm and pulled her towards a storage room. She resisted the urge to wrench out of his grip, gritting her teeth and casting a last glance towards the source of the gunfire as she went.

O'Neill suddenly burst round a corner, followed by three young recruits. He motioned them towards the labs while he kept guard, sheltered in the alcove formed by the elevator. Griff curse as he flattened them both against the door of the storage room he was about to open.

Three Jaffa appeared in full armour; one of them was Teal'c. Walsh did a double take. He was an ally, wasn't he? Why was he wearing his First Prime garb? Walsh turned to Griff, to ask him if she was hallucinating, but shots went off and her eyes turned back towards the group of Jaffa.

O'Neill had opened fire on them, probably to cover the recruits who were running down the corridor. The Jaffa took cover, their staff weapons opening, ready to shoot. O'Neill's P90 sputtered and died. Everything from this point seemed to be going in slow motion and incredibly fast at the same time. Apophis' First Prime shot a blast of energy. It caught O'Neill right in the chest and he flew onto the ground.

This couldn't be happening. Not again. There was smoke and blood and O'Neill was sprawled on his back and she couldn't move an inch, rooted to the spot in horror. The First Prime stared right at her, his face an unreadable, solemn mask. She was next, wasn't she? And at that moment, she didn't really care.

Major Griff suddenly pushed her inside the storage room and closed the door behind her. She thought he'd told her to stay there until they came to fetch her and that it would be all right, but the words made no sense. Surely the Jaffa would come and fetch her within instants, and that would be the end.

It was dark in the storage room; she didn't even bother to look for the light switch. She just stood there, cold sweat tingling down her back, images of what she'd just seen running through her mind over and over. The noise outside died down, armoured boots clanked past the door and moved down the corridor, until she couldn't hear them anymore. Why hadn't they come after her? Had she dreamt it all? What if it had been a vivid flashback?

Walsh realised that she couldn't catch her breath. She tried to calm down before the hyperventilation got out of hand; she needed to stay in control. If she took deep enough breaths, she could venture out of the room to see what the hell was going on. That was the plan.

The corridor was eerily silent when she finally opened the door a crack. She flinched away from the light; the neons were violently bright compared to the soothing darkness of the storage room. She scanned the empty hallway then slowly took a step out.

There was blood on the ground. Surely, she couldn't be imagining that. And O'Neill was still where he'd fallen. It wasn't a dream or a flashback. She choked down the terror that was rising in her throat, and quickly checked that the corridor was secure. There wasn't a sound; they were probably all on another level.

Walsh stumbled towards O'Neill's body. What were the chances of this happening to her twice? But there she was, faced with Jack's body once more. She reached out to feel for a pulse, trying to control the violent trembling in her hands. The infirmary wasn't far, if he was still alive she might be able to... His skin was still warm... she thought she felt a pulse...

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand swatted her fingers away. She ungracefully fell back onto her ass and stared in disbelief. O'Neill groaned, rubbing his neck where she'd touched him. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. She was trembling all over with panic and relief.

"Walsh, what the hell are you doing?" he said, very quietly, but in an unmistakably annoyed tone.

She opened her mouth to explain, but no words came out. Tears were stinging her eyes and she did her best to blink them back down. O'Neill got to his feet, grumbling to himself. Blood spilled from his chest.

"You're wounded," she managed to say, her eyes fixed on the blood soaking his clothes and dripping onto the floor.

"What?" He looked down towards his chest. "Oh, that." He pulled his jacket open and produced a bag of prosthetic blood.

It was a fucking exercise. O'Neill had willingly got himself shot by his Jaffa friend in order to test a bunch of newbies. Walsh tried to breathe and found that she still couldn't. She was suffocating with anger, with terror, with grief; they were all welling up in her chest, ready to burst.

"I asked you a question, Walsh! What were you doing out here?"

"I was going to MacKenzie's!" she snarled back, getting back on her feet. "If any of you had deemed necessary to let me know that you were going to do an exercise, I wouldn't have been in your way. I didn't know what was going on! I thought..."

"Shh! C'mon." He made his way to the storage room and entered. She followed blindly, her head swimming and her heart bashing in a mixture of shock and anger. When he lit up the small room and closed the door behind her, black spots fluttered in front of her eyes. Great.

"This is O'Neill," she heard him say on the radio. "Everything went according to plan, sir. I'm now in a storage room on Level 21 with Walsh. ... Yeah, I guess, she looks crappy, got a good mind to get her to the infirmary. ... Ah, right, so I guess she should stay put here for a while. ... What? Are you sure sir?" He sighed. "... Okay, we'll do that, sir."

Walsh was trying to breathe properly again. Her heart was beating loud in her ears, in her head. Stars in front of her eyes formed horror scenes, flashes of Jack dead on the gurney, of the fatal blast Carter took, of Daniel blowing his own brains out... a sob, or a retch, racked through her.

"Looks like we're stuck in here until the end of the exercise," said O'Neill. "And there's a trash can to your left if you're going to throw up."

It felt like she was going to. She took a hurried step towards it, and everything went dark.

She heard wheezing breath by her ear and felt dragged down by a limp arm draped over her shoulder. Carter's eyes glossed over before she crumpled to the floor at Jack's feet. The smell of burnt flesh made her stomach churn. Blood and brains spattered the walls and her face and everyone was screaming. A familiar voice was speaking to her, though she couldn't make out the words.

"What?" She didn't recognise the surroundings; everything was going in and out of focus. O'Neill was sitting on his haunches next to her.

"You passed out," he said.

Awesome. That just topped it off nicely, didn't it? "How long was I out?"

"Less than a minute."

"Right," she muttered, slowly propping herself up onto her elbow.

"Maybe we should try the infirmary after all..."

"I wouldn't want to ruin that great exercise going on out there."

He glared at her. "Don't worry, you managed to do that pretty well."

"What, did my turning up ruin your fun?"

"You could have got shot." Their eyes met for an instant, then he looked away. He'd seemed concerned – no. He felt responsible for her security.

"Even if I had, weren't you using intar bullets and blanks?"

"You never know what a blank can do, and intars hurt like hell."

"I know." She watched him for a while. "You think I'm some sort of wuss, don't you?"

"Last time I checked, your combat skills were pretty much the same as Daniel's when he first went to Abydos."

"I'm not that Maggie. And even if I was, four years with SG-1 make you learn combat skills pretty fast. Ask Daniel."

"Huh. And do badass officers pass out at the sight of blood in your reality?"

"It wasn't the sight of blood, you stupid, stupid man!"

She got up abruptly, fighting the dizziness with all her might to pace the room. He sounded so much like Jack that it was unbearable. And she couldn't close her eyes; every time she did, flashes of violence flooded her brain. God, when would it stop?

"You're a world-class actress, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"It's a nice act you've got going, but I don't buy it."

He'd got up and was looking at her with that distant, suspicious look again. She focused on him, his words sinking in slowly. No, of course he didn't believe that she was capable of feeling. It wasn't surprising, she usually did a good job of hiding it. But that Jack – any O'Neill – would think that... it was irrational, but she expected him to know better.

"I don't care what Hammond or MacKenzie or that za'tarc detector say," he continued. "I don't trust you, Walsh. And I'll personally make sure that–"

"Yes, yes, I get the picture!" It was worth it just for the face he made when she interrupted him. "You'll never trust me, you'll eternally be on my case to make sure I don't do something to the base, however much I prove that I'm loyal to the SGC. I got it, so why don't you just shut up, O'Neill?"

"That's Colonel to you!"

"I'm not MacKenzie, don't you try to screw around with me!"

"I thought I'd managed _that_ pretty well in your dimension, Maggie!"

She launched herself at him, aiming a punch at the damn self-satisfied expression on his face. He grabbed her wrists easily, immobilising her. She was still much too weak and slow even to land a blow, and that was pretty pathetic. Worse, her anger dissolved suddenly, giving way to crushing grief. Her knees felt weak, and she was pretty sure that if he hadn't gripped her upper arms to support her weight, she'd have fallen to the floor.

"Well, are you going to kick my ass, or what?" His voice was softer, the taunt mostly gone from it.

She wished she could, it would be so much better than standing there like a rag doll, trying not to look at him because her eyes were filling with tears. She noticed that she'd grabbed hold of his shirt. The proper thing now would be to let go of him and take a step backwards, but she was trembling too much. It didn't help that she had the most stupid, desperate urge to pull him close and just cling to him and sob her heart out.

"I'm not putting it on," she said quietly, letting go of him to wipe a hand across her face.

He looked at her, frowning, his dark eyes piercing as ever. She stared back at him, willing him to see that she was telling the truth. If he was anything like the man she knew, he'd be able to read her. He was good at it. They watched each other quietly for what felt like a long time.

"You'd better sit," he said after a while, helping her to get down on the floor again, her back resting against he wall. "So for the sake of argument, let's say you're not lying. Who the hell are you, and what did you do with the hard-ass that Walsh was?"

"Oh please. You must have only known her superficially if you thought that wasn't just for show."

"Huh." He was still watching her carefully. She thought there was less hostility in his gaze, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"Look... I don't care if you believe me or not, but maybe I should... perhaps I should tell you everything." It was probably stupid, but she'd only told him part of the story and if she wanted his trust, it might be worth a shot. Or maybe she just really needed to talk about it.

"Fine. I don't want to hear it in front of that shrink anyway." He sat down next to her, closer to her than she ever would have expected, and checked his watch. "Besides, we probably have at least an hour of quality time together before the exercise is over."

She remained silent for a while, collecting her thoughts. Where could she start? Memories still kept on flooding her mind. His ragged breath, his body pressed hard against hers, skin against skin. Her own voice echoing in an ugly scream when she saw him hit. The sound of metal skidding across the bedroom floor. Daniel's bloodshot, tear-filled eyes instants before the shot went off.

"So, whatcha thinking of that makes you shake like a leaf?"

"Daniel." She could see Daniel's face, confused, triumphant, terrified... the soldiers and Tok'ra gathering around him to stop him, no matter the cost. And the gun in his hand...

"Yeah, he can be pretty scary with all the languages he insists on speaking–"

"He shot himself."

O'Neill went quiet.

"The damn Jaffa on Apophis' new ship must've got their hands on him and programmed him while he was separated from Jack and Carter. That's why we found him so easily. A few weeks later he emptied his handgun on the Tok'ra High Council... and shot himself in the head."

She shuddered violently at her own words. She'd said it dozens of times, in debriefings and presentations and interrogations, and she'd been able to keep her cool. But now for some reason, this time she was feeling it all again intensely.

"And you cared?"

She glared at him "Of course I cared! Daniel was... He was understanding, and kind, and an insufferable nitpicker. He drove Jack nuts. We were so devastated when we thought that he was dead..."

"What, with that brainwashing walking squid?"

She couldn't help but smile. "That too. I was thinking of the time we left him behind on Apophis' mothership."

"Oh, yeah."

"Yeah."

"So how come you didn't get one of those stupid armbands?" he asked after a while. "Teal'c didn't get one here because he's a Jaffa, and it doesn't work on them. What's your excuse?"

She sighed. "It was mainly because the Tok'ra had issues with me. I was this human scientist who'd already figured out a crude way to remove symbiotes from people's brains. They didn't want me to get smarter. Besides, I wasn't very keen to have something unknown tamper with my system."

"I guess it was a smart move."

She shrugged. "I insisted that General Maybourne and Anise stop the experiment. Dr Fraiser also recommended it. But Maybourne didn't give a damn that three of his men were being driven nuts by some kind of virus, whatever we said."

"You sure you did your best to convince him?" He looked at her meaningfully.

It was so ridiculous that she couldn't even feel outraged. She just laughed wryly, wondering if she sounded hysterical. "Don't worry. It's not as if I haven't thought of that ever since you– they got themselves killed."

If she'd accepted to wear an armband, perhaps she could have saved them. If she'd been more persuasive. If she'd gone after them sooner. If she'd been faster to get to the ship. If she'd arrived ten seconds earlier... She swallowed down a sob. O'Neill was staring at her, disbelieving, wary.

"You think this is an act." Her voice was hoarse. "According to your logic I'm some kind of manipulative bitch who... what, exactly? Would sacrifice my team-mates just for the prestige of heading SG-1? God, what did she do to you to make you think so little of me?"

He sighed and rubbed his face, avoiding eye contact.

She stared at a wall for a while, doing her best to fight off the mixture of grief and bitter disappointment in this world. What was she expecting? For him to care, like her Jack would have? He was gone. She couldn't expect anything from this one. She didn't really _want_ anything from this one, because he was the damn wrong one. At least that's how she knew she should feel, if she were rational. But she wasn't very rational at the moment, and his suspicion and disgust hurt.

"Just say it already."

"What?"

"What you wanted to tell me."

Of course, it was that easy to bare her soul in front of someone who despised her. But it was still Jack, somewhere, deep down. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I first met Jack O'Neill on a black ops mission in the late eighties. We were both Majors, and he had to help get me into a building to retrieve information from someone. We bickered, we collaborated, we nearly got ourselves killed... and then one thing led to another."

He didn't look at her. "So... you kinda had a relationship with him since the eighties?"

She made a face, hesitating. "He was married, it was more of a... you know, 'what happens in the field stays in the field' kind of thing. Though it did happen a few times."

He nodded. She was glad that he didn't deny that an O'Neill would ever do that sort of thing.

"After he divorced, I went to see him a few times, but I was working in Nevada and... well... the circumstances were all wrong to start something serious."

She could tell by his expression that he understood what she meant. It had been a very bad time for him, between Charlie's death and the divorce.

"And then we were both assigned to SG-1."

"And he wasn't worried about... you know?"

"We talked, we decided to keep things strictly within the regs from then on. And we did, for several years. And the team became our main focus... kind of like a family where we all had our role. When Daniel and Carter were nitpicking over some artefact, Jack and I were providing the sarcastic commentary."

"How come you weren't nitpicking with them?"

She shrugged. "I'm a different sort of nerd, I suppose."

"Huh, didn't know they came in different flavours." He sounded subdued by now.

"Anyhow, after General Hammond was killed and Maybourne had taken over, the regs didn't seem to matter as much. And we'd probably have done anything to escape the depressing reality for a while, so..."

"So, what, you're saying you were just messing around together because you needed the distraction?"

"It would have been too complicated to get into something more, even if we'd wanted to." And whether Jack would have wanted to would always remain a mystery.

"You really never got caught? Daniel usually picks up on stuff like that."

Walsh shrugged. "If he noticed, he never spoke to me about it. There was much more gossip about Jack and Carter going around."

"Ah."

She could tell from the way he averted his eyes that he was embarrassed. So it wasn't just in her dimension, whatever "it" was, exactly.

"I wish things had been better between us before..."

"Between who?"

"Me and the team. I was furious with them all, after they'd been given the armbands. They became so arrogant... as if somehow I'd become slow and incompetent. They laughed off my worries about the effect it was having on them. Maybourne encouraged them to act like idiots, sending them off to all sorts of dangerous places, mostly stealing things. Then they'd come back on base, load up on sugar, and wait for the next reckless mission."

"Sounds like Harry."

"Yeah. They all tried to convince me to join them, but I could see how... dumb and full of stupid hormones they'd become, and I really wasn't tempted."

"He didn't... you know..?"

"What?"

He made a little face and shrugged. She could only suppose he'd picked up on her reference to hormones.

"Jack did come onto me, if that's what you're asking," she said at last. "But he had enough sanity left to take the hint when I told him no."

He'd come to her in the locker room, of all places, and wrapped his hands around her hips in what he'd probably thought was a sensual way. His grip had been so hard that she still had bruises on the day they buried him, and he hadn't even meant to do it.

"I was just some normal human being. I swear those armbands were causing them to form a soft of pack into which nobody else was invited. They'd have disobeyed Maybourne's orders if they'd been told to stay on base."

"Ah, yeah. We kinda disobeyed Hammond and went to sabotage that damn new mothership too."

That was vaguely comforting. It showed to what extent their judgement had been altered, if even Hammond hadn't been able to keep them from putting themselves in danger.

"Janet and I figured that the armbands were going to fail and Anise finally admitted that we were right. But they'd already left. Maybourne sent me out with SG-2 to help them..."

She took a deep breath and pressed her knees closer to her chest, shuddering uncontrollably. There was no way she could look at him anymore.

"Kawalsky and I went into the mothership while Ferretti got Daniel to the gate. At some point the alarm was raised and force fields blocked us off just when we were getting to Jack and Carter..."

She'd heard him shout "no!" even before she'd caught sight of him. He and Carter had been standing immobile, staring at each other.

"Jack and Carter were separated by an energy field too. Jaffa were arriving, and there was nothing we could do. Then the first charge of C4 went off, the barriers came down, and I thought we had a chance... but the First Prime didn't even falter under the blast. He got Carter in the back with his staff weapon. She... she was dead in seconds. You– Jack grabbed her, he still wouldn't take cover and the Jaffa were still firing..."

Jack hadn't even heard her call him, or he hadn't cared. He'd been completely focused on Carter, on somehow bringing her back to safety. Just as she and Kawalsky opened fire on the Jaffa to cover Jack, the First Prime had fired his staff weapon. He'd locked eyes with her just when the blast hit, and the look on Jack's face would always be etched in her brain... terrified, furious, shocked... begging for help.

"We killed the Jaffa, but..." It was all she managed to say, until tears smothered her voice. She pressed her face against her knees so that she could at least pretend that he couldn't see her crying.

O'Neill's hand came to rest on the back of her neck, surprisingly warm and real amongst all the memories that were running through her head. It slid down between her shoulders, rubbing gingerly. It was hard to believe that he was touching her like that. Apparently the O'Neills in every dimension were completely helpless when a woman started to cry and would do just about anything to get her to stop.

"What I saw today, it looked just like..."

"I know, I figured that one out for myself."

She tried to contain her sobs so that they stayed small, quiet tremors. "We got him back to the SGC but he died on the way. I knew, I felt it while I was carrying him, but I didn't want to believe it. We dragged him all the way to the infirmary just so Janet could pronounce..." The word wouldn't come out. She could have sworn that he'd squeezed her shoulder.

"I didn't even realise how much he meant to me until I saw him lying there. I think I really..." Loved him. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, it was something she hadn't even really admitted it to herself yet. Perhaps O'Neill was as clueless about these things as he pretended to be and hadn't figured out what she was about to say. She hoped so.

His arm was draped around her shoulders by now. She hadn't really noticed at first – too lost in her own thoughts. Of course it wasn't out of any real feeling for her; at best, he was was doing it out of pity. A part of her didn't want this, because it wasn't her Jack and he was doing it for the wrong reasons. But she was too tired to push him away. Everything ached, her head, her tight throat, her chest. His presence soothed her, in spite of everything.

Everything was quiet. The tears kept coming in waves, but she pretended that if she kept her face buried against her knees, he couldn't see them. It felt good, somehow, to let it all out. And the warmth of his arm around her was surprisingly comforting.

She wasn't sure how much time elapsed when O'Neill's headset suddenly crackled to life. They both started at the sudden noise and he quickly moved his arm away to fiddle with it. She let go of her knees and straightened; it felt like she was waking up from a strange dream.

"Yes, sir?" he said into the radio. He stayed silent for a moment, and she could hear Hammond's voice in the earphone. "With permission, I'll bring Walsh back to her quarters before I join you. ... No, I don't think that'll be necessary, sir. ... Okay. Oh, and sir? Could we find out who was supposed to warn her about the exercise? Thank your, sir."

He got up with a long, irritated sigh. She got to her feet as well; at least she wasn't light-headed anymore. He was still watching her, but his gaze wasn't angry or threatening.

"Ready to go?"

She made sure her face was dry; there was nothing she could do about the swollen eyes, but hopefully that would be less conspicuous. They went to the elevator, down to level 25 and then to her quarters without exchanging a word or a glance. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything more she could say to him; she'd already said too much.

"Well..." he said uneasily when they got to her room.

"Yes... I suppose MacKenzie will want to see us soon enough..."

"I guess. See you there, then."

She nodded, and entered her room, welcoming the darkness. His footsteps faded as she all but dropped down onto the bed. For the first time in months, sleep came fast.


	10. Chapter 10

O'Neill sat in the dark, staring at the TV without seeing it. He eyed the Scotch at the bottom of his tumbler for a moment, and downed it. There was no escape, though. The alcohol hardly took his mind off it. Damn her. He thought he was done with her.

When he'd heard that she'd died, he'd only felt cold rage. There was no reason to grieve for her. She was the one who had left without as much as an explanation. Her stupid, pathetic death at the hands of some kind of zombie was her damn fault for being obsessed with science above all else, for being some sort of psychopath who thought that those experiments were ever okay.

But that was the problem. Now he couldn't be sure that she really was a psychopath, that she was really devoid of feelings and ethics. And those doubts were all down to Walsh. He'd known a cynical person who hadn't ever showed an ounce of vulnerability, who laughed at romance, scoffed at having a family. And then there was Walsh – trying to hold it together, but broken, sick, anxious and grieving. At first all of that had seemed unreal, faked, but now... now he was starting to believe her.

Sure, it was easier to convince himself that it was all an act, that she was trying to attract sympathies for her personal agenda, but his gut shouted at him that it wasn't true. Maggie wouldn't ever have used that kind of tactic: she'd always contrived to look strong. What if Walsh was just the same person as Maggie, but pushed to a point where all her barriers started crumbling?

He hated that idea. If she hadn't just randomly left because she'd found some science project way more interesting than him, then it meant he'd probably said or done something – or not said it, not done enough – that had made her decide to leave. And then she'd been alone with a bunch of stupid kids and crazy scientists, and they'd let her let her create a monster. It didn't make sense to blame himself for that, but deep down in his gut he felt that he'd played some kind of role in it.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. And all this turmoil came just from the fact that she'd poured out her soul to him. Oh, she probably wasn't quite herself. Grief and happy pill withdrawal did have a tendency to make one a little sensitive. He'd been like that, after Charlie had died and Sara had left. He could actually relate to her, and that freaked him out, too. He reached for the phone and dialled.

"Hmbrmgl," said Daniel's voice as he picked up, several rings later.

"Daniel? It's me."

"This had better be good."

"Huh."

"Jack, if you've just woken me up to say 'huh', I'm going to march through Colorado Springs in my pajamas, rip out your throat and stick it up your _mikta_."

"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry."

Daniel fell silent for a moment. "What's wrong?" O'Neill heard him fumble around, probably to get his glasses.

"I've been thinking."

"I hope you didn't sprain anything."

"Daniel. This isn't easy."

Daniel let out a massive sigh. "Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"I left something out when I was talking to you about Walsh, the other day."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well... we had a thing going. I kinda liked her."

"Pretty much what you said last time."

"No, Daniel, I _liked_ her. As in, you know..."

"I know what?"

"Do I need to spell it out?"

There was a pause. "When was that? Weren't you still with–"

"Nothing happened when I was with Sara."

Nothing had happened, but it had already been there; he was pretty sure even Sara sensed that he'd been... distracted, sometimes. It definitely hadn't helped their marriage.

"Huh. But afterwards..."

"Yeah, when Maggie came to help me with the withdrawal after the Abydos mission... ah, you know."

At least he hoped Daniel got the general gist of it. He didn't have a word to explain their relationship, sort of between friends and lovers, with a bunch of things left unsaid, and him left with the feeling he liked her a lot more than she did him.

"Yeah, I get the picture... I think. So, was it some kind of... comfort, after all the stuff that had happened?"

"You know, you sound just like a shrink. Have you seen a doctor about that?"

"Jaaa-ack!"

"I dunno, Daniel! I mean, she was always sort of detached, I didn't really know where I stood with her. Maybe for her it was just some distraction or experiment or whatever."

Daniel snorted. "You sound like a woman."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, as if you'd never heard a woman go 'I don't know where I stand with him, he's detached, maybe he's just using me for sex'. It's a classic."

"Gee thanks, Daniel, I feel so much better about it now."

"Ah, sorry. She does strike me as the type who... um... doesn't give away much of what's going on inside. From what I've seen of the alternate one, anyway."

"Yeah. I keep on wondering how similar they are. Maybe they're basically the same, but the one over here was just... driven nuts..."

"By you?" Daniel's ability to read between the lines was spooky, sometimes.

"Who knows?"

"Um, you know, the Walsh we have on base technically spent much more time with a Jack O'Neill than yours did. If your theory was correct, she'd be the one who went nuts."

"I guess."

"I suppose your call has something to do with the fact that you were stuck with her for an hour in a storage room." Daniel yawned loudly as he spoke.

"You heard about that, then."

"Did anything happen?"

"She was pretty upset when she saw Teal'c shoot me during the exercise. Reminded her of what had happened in her dimension. She was there when he killed Carter and the other me. And then when her Daniel... killed himself, za'tarc style."

"I'm not surprised they put her on pills after that. I mean... imagine losing all of SG-1 within weeks."

O'Neill sighed and ran a hand across his face. "It's worse than that. She and her O'Neill slept together." He paused for a moment. "Sounds like she had some pretty strong feelings for him."

"Funny how you always seem to get lucky with women from alternate universes."

"What?"

"What?"

Daniel had mumbled out his comment quickly, as if to himself, but O'Neill was pretty sure he'd heard that right. The little bastard.

"Well it's better than having Princess Sarcophagus falling in love with me. Or Anise, for that matter."

"Yeah but Freya kissed _you_."

"You don't need to remind me." He shuddered. Those few days had been difficult enough without Freya's little out of left field contribution.

"Anyhow... I guess it's not an easy situation for you."

"Now that's a euphemism. And she's going to be there in the SGC, all the time."

"Well, it's a big building and she'll probably be in the labs. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to avoid her if you want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"Well, uh, you still have strong feelings for..."

"I do not..."

"... her that you may want to resolve in some way."

"... have feelings for Walsh!"

God he was insufferable, couldn't he just shut up for once?

"Then why have you been all moody and aggressive ever since she got here, and why are you watching her every move?"

"Because, how are we supposed to trust her?"

"Technically that's General Hammond's problem, not yours. There are a lot of people in the SGC who will keep an eye on her in case she turns out to be... evil. It's not your responsibility, Jack."

O'Neill grunted. Daniel kinda had a point, but... well, he didn't want to let her out of his sight just yet. If she turned around and did something horrible, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"In any case, MacKenzie wants us to discuss it until we've got to the bottom of it, so I guess we'll be meeting in his office until the end of eternity."

"Or maybe you should just be honest with her and get stuff out in the open once and for all. The sooner MacKenzie is satisfied, the sooner you can move on."

"Yeah, the only flaw in your plan is that I'd have to let MacKenzie in on private stuff. Not gonna happen."

"Well... I'm sorry Jack. I wish I could help, but I really have no idea how."

"That's okay, I'll think of something. Anyway... it's two in the morning, I'd better try and catch some Zs."

"Yeah, same here."

"Right. Then... you know..."

"Yeah. I'm here, if... well..."

"Thanks. 'Night." He hung up.

Daniel had helped a bit. O'Neill still felt confused as hell, but at least he had someone on his side. Someone understood. Well, he was pretty sure Teal'c would have understood too, but he would have probably just watched silently and raised his eyebrow a lot. Or said something which was very wise, but so cryptic it was impossible to understand.

O'Neill finally stumbled to the bed, tired, a bit drunk and still wired. When sleep came, it was restless.

* * *

Walsh woke with a start. She knew that she'd been dreaming, but she couldn't remember anything. Probably fortunate; her dreams didn't tend to be pleasant, lately. The lights were still on and she was still dressed – she'd just gone straight to sleep after that exhausting conversation with O'Neill. The clock on the wall read 0435 hours. If she was right, she'd practically slept twelve hours. Unusual, but much needed.

She made her way to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale and gaunt. Not unexpected, considering the circumstances, but she'd looked healthier. Between the grief and the medication-induced nausea she'd also lost a few more pounds than she could afford.

With that thought in mind she got the lift to the mess hall after briefly washing up. Not that she exactly felt hungry, but it would at least give her something to do. She'd avoided it lately, not really liking the way people watched her. The story of the monster-making Professor Walsh had probably got around, somehow.

As expected, the mess was quite empty. She selected cereal, an apple, and stared longingly at the coffee pot. She had to be in caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else. But Janet had said that it may trigger headaches, and she was probably right. Walsh sighed.

"Need any help?"

She turned, a smile pulling at her lips before she could stop it. Daniel was standing beside her, looking a bit sleepy, but generally friendly.

"I was debating whether or not to take coffee," she told him.

"Hm, that seems like too deep a philosophical question before five in the morning."

He made a beeline for the coffee pot and filled two cups. "If you don't drink it, I probably will," he explained, pointing at one of the cups.

Well, it looked like they were going to be having coffee together; she certainly wasn't going to refuse. When Daniel had finished piling food on his plate, he joined her and led her towards what she supposed was his usual table.

Daniel placed the extra cup of coffee in front of her. "So... you're an early bird."

"Well the day usually starts pretty early in the SGC."

"Yeah, well, I wish I could've got a couple more hours' sleep." He yawned hugely and slurped his coffee.

Walsh smiled fondly. "You really shouldn't spend your nights on translations, Dr Jackson."

Daniel's eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at his pancakes. "Well it wasn't exactly my choice. I got a call during the night, and then I was awake, couldn't get back to sleep, so came back here to work on a treaty that should actually have been finished yesterday."

Walsh laughed softly. Daniel looked up at her, as if he were suddenly awoken by that sound. He gave her a smile and straightened.

"I take it the Daniel in your world also did that sort of thing, huh?"

"Oh yes. And Carter had her fair share of sleepless nights too."

"Jack swears it's why he's going grey."

"He says that, but really it's just because he gave up on the hair dye."

The quip came out before she could even think. Daniel sprayed coffee across the table.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you choke," she said, unsure if she should be amused or contrite.

"Oh god," he said, chuckling and dabbing the table with a napkin. "I just... now I've imagined it!"

"Your imagination is indeed fertile, Daniel Jackson," said a voice behind Walsh.

She turned around, forcing herself to keep calm. Teal'c was coming from the buffet with a huge platter of food. He loomed over her, seeming even more gigantic and fearsome now that she was sitting.

"Oh hey, Teal'c," she heard Daniel say. "Want to join us?"

The man looked at Daniel, then down at her. She would rather have avoided him, but if she was going to be spending a lot of time in the facility that wasn't going to be an option. She gave him a slight encouraging nod.

"Very well," he said, and set his heavy tray down on the table.

It was confusing to have him do something as mundane as have breakfast in his presence, after the sometimes epic games of hide and seek her team had played with him over the years. And above all, it was weird having him sit there after the horrible flashbacks that he'd triggered the day before.

They all set to eat, although the word was quite an exaggeration in her case. Teal'c had a healthy appetite; his tray was laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles, a doughnut, various kinds of fruit. He'd chosen a seat at the end of the table where he could watch both her and Daniel; she had the distinct impression this was some kind of test.

"So, um," said Daniel in a very obvious attempt to break the ice. "I heard you got kind of caught up in our training scenario yesterday."

Not exactly the easiest topic Daniel could have chosen. "I did, and I have to say, I could have done without it."

"I recall your saying that in your dimension, I was an enemy of the Tau'ri," said Teal'c. His voice was rich and solemn. It didn't sound threatening, simply very calm and confident.

"Yes." She toyed with her cup. "Yes, you were. And the situation I saw yesterday was... reminiscent of something I would have rather not gone through again."

She knew he was watching her, she could feel his eyes bore into her as if he were trying to read her very heart. This wasn't an enemy. She had to etch it into her brain: this wasn't the First Prime of Apophis, this was Teal'c. If he'd been with SG-1 for nearly four years, it was perhaps thanks to him that they were all alive.

"It must be challenging to see me as something other than an enemy of your people."

She turned and looked him squarely in the eye. "It is. But I'll get there, with a bit of time."

"I think I'm the only one here who never met an alternate version of myself," said Daniel, his mouth full of pancakes.

"Really? Our Daniel had quite an adventure with his double, when he first found the mirror."

"He did? Did he get the temporal failure thing?"

"At the end of his stay, yes. He was lucky to get out alive. In fact he wasn't even sure what had happened to him until Carter figured it all out."

"I'm not surprised," said Daniel with a small smile. "So was that alternate universe very different from yours?"

"You're much too curious, Doctor Jackson," she told him, picking at her food some more. "In every possible universe, I believe."

"Have you had the possibility to study your alter-ego's life, Doctor Walsh?" asked Teal'c suddenly.

"I have. I suppose you could say she was also much too curious."

"And you are not?"

"It's another kind of curiosity. It sounds like she... I don't know. Like she was trying to push some kind of boundary, or prove something to the world."

"I believe that our alter-egos are at once infinitely similar and different from ourselves," said Teal'c.

"How's that?"

"At the core, we are the same person as our other selves. But the experiences we have, the choices we must make, render us unique."

"How can you be so incredibly deep so incredibly early in the morning?" asked Daniel in a slightly whiny tone.

"Well, I certainly agree with you, Teal'c," she said.

"Now try and convince Jack of it," mumbled Daniel.

Teal'c cocked his head; Walsh couldn't make out what that meant, but she suspected it was his way of saying "fat chance". At least, that's how she felt about that ever happening.

"Anyway," said Daniel. "In both the other dimensions we came into contact with, there was a Teal'c, but he was always on Apophis' side."

"How did you come to join SG-1?" asked Walsh.

"O'Neill's valour and determination in battle convinced me that I perhaps had a chance of freeing my people from the false gods. That is when I decided to join the Tau'ri in their battle against the Goa'uld."

"I dunno if this happened to you," said Daniel, "but it was when we were all rounded up with other potential hosts for Apophis's children."

Walsh nodded. "In our dimension, Colonel O'Neill sent me to ask for Teal'c's help. He said he had a feeling about him..." She shrugged. "It didn't work. If anything, what I said seemed to anger him even more." She'd obviously chosen the wrong approach, if O'Neill in this dimension had been able to convince him. So many forks in the road...

"I do not mean any disrespect, Doctor Walsh, but I doubt that a woman would have been able to turn me from Apophis at that time. I was convinced by O'Neill because he was a warrior."

She couldn't decide if she felt insulted or relieved. The Jaffa were notoriously sexist, after all, though she hadn't known much about their social customs back in those days. They'd got it wrong, but at least perhaps it wasn't her fault.

"Jack and Teal'c have a... uh... warrior bonding thing going on," explained Daniel. "I doubt that Teal'c would've listened to me, if I'd gone to have a word with him."

"Indeed."

Walsh couldn't help but smile into her cup of coffee. Daniel was trying to smooth things over, and apparently Teal'c had a rather good understanding of her situation. Small moments like these made her feel less lonely, though she didn't want to read too much into them. It probably wouldn't last.

"But, uh, I hear Kawalsky's not really happy about working alongside a Jaffa," said Daniel.

"He'll come around. Kawalsky's stubborn, but he's generally reasonable. I haven't had much of a chance to speak to him lately, but I'll try to have a word with him."

"That would be nice. I mean, I guess it's not easy for the two of you, living in a different dimension and alongside someone you'd been fighting for several years but..."

"It's up to us to adapt," she said with a firm nod.

"Well, and us to you."

He smiled at her, and she knew from his expression that he was sincere. It was moving, and she did her best not to show it, focusing on her cereal instead. She'd cried in front of Janet and O'Neill, and that was enough for a lifetime.

"Okay, uh, I think I'd better get going," said Daniel after a while, getting up from his seat. "We're due to leave in three hours and I still have that treaty to read over."

"Of course," she said, collecting herself. "Thank you for keeping me company, Dr Jackson."

"You can call me Daniel."

That kind of slightly naive trust was so typical of Daniel that she wanted to cry. God, she missed him.

"You can call me Maggie, in that case," she said softly.

"Okay. See you later, Teal'c!" With that, he sauntered out of the cafeteria, temporarily energised by the caffeine, if Walsh was any judge.

She ate a few more spoonfuls, feeling Teal'c's gaze on her. She looked up after a while and found him watching her, silent, thoughtful. He'd been doing it ever since he sat down, but it still didn't feel comfortable.

"I saw you during the exercise yesterday, Doctor Walsh," he said at last.

That was stating the obvious; they'd stared at each other for a good while before he'd gone off. She raised her eyebrows, unsure where this was going.

"The look on your face when I shot O'Neill with the intar bullet was worth a thousand words."

And then he stood up, collecting his tray, and bowed his head. She bowed back automatically, and watched him walk away. She wondered what he'd thought he'd seen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Another day, another torture. Yesterday's torture had been the an apparently endless treaty negotiation dinner. Daniel was the only one who could get around in their language; the rest of them had just nodded and eaten not particularly pleasant food and tried to be polite. And then the moment he'd stepped out of the gate, O'Neill had been told that he had to meet with MacKenzie and Walsh in the afternoon.

So now he was standing in front of her door in the guest quarters, hesitating.

He'd walked past Kawalsky on his way there, but they hadn't spoken. At best they exchanged wary glares. Part of him wished that he could just make friends with Charles again; he missed a Kawalsky in his life. It probably wouldn't even be difficult... if they ignored the fact that neither of them was exactly the person the other had known.

But he wasn't keen to get friendly with someone who may die pretty soon. Carter didn't know if Kawalsky and Walsh were there for good, or if they only had a few months or years before they started failing. Seeing a close friend die a second time around didn't sound like something O'Neill wanted to do again in a hurry.

And speaking of things he didn't want to do... With a sigh, he knocked. This was probably a bad idea, but he was running out of options.

Time seemed to drag on terribly slowly, and he was sorely tempted to leave. Just when he was about to turn tail, she opened her door. Walsh looked a little better than the other day; maybe more colour to her face, or less rings under her eyes. She seemed taken aback, but he didn't give her any time to ask questions.

"Let me guess: you weren't expecting me to be here."

"Good guess," she replied, puzzled.

"Can I come in?"

She motioned him into the small room wordlessly, though he felt her watching his every move. Her room was the usual setup: a desk, a chair, a bed, chest of drawers, small ensuite bathroom. Decoration was minimal, but at least there was a TV. It barely looked lived in; she'd always been a neat freak. Well, Maggie had.

"I'm here about this afternoon's torture session with MacKenzie. I don't think it's doing you or me any good."

"I agree," she replied, casually leaning against the desk. "And don't worry, Colonel, I wasn't planning on telling him about the last conversation we had."

"Me either."

"Do you think he found out about what happened?"

"MacKenzie? Nah. He works off base most of the time, so unless Hammond told him..."

She sagged with relief; he knew how she felt. "Anyhoo... any ideas to get him off our case?"

"Off our case?"

"You know... to stop the so-called group therapy." _Couples therapy_ , his brain supplied, but he ignored it. "Don't tell me you _want_ to continue?"

She snorted. "I'm not masochistic. Why do you think I can help?"

"Cause you're a shrink? And you're supposed to be this profiler or whatever in Special Forces, maybe you know some kind of tactic that I don't."

"Well, he's mainly on our case because you were aggressive towards me," she said, after a while of silent thinking. "I don't think he's really interested in me or my mental health beyond routine evaluations, but I suspect that your behaviour might have raised alarm bells. You're a key member of this organisation, after all."

Oh god, that's what he was worried about. Hammond wouldn't have sent him to a shrink if he hadn't thought he was going off the deep end.

"So," she said, not waiting for him to comment, "I doubt that we can fob him off by telling him we've solved it on our own time, even though it's been over two weeks since the last session."

He sighed and rubbed his face. That stupid diplomatic mission with a bunch of nitpickers had bored him witless, and he hadn't slept properly in days. He wasn't sure he could handle another session with that asshat without saying or doing something to make his case even worse.

"And...?"

"Well, MacKenzie is expecting us to solve our problems in front of him, even if it's incredibly personal and tedious."

"Have I already mentioned how much I hate shrinks?"

"You could talk about it with General Hammond, I imagine he's the one who asked for these sessions."

And that would mean he'd have to tell him about his relationship with Maggie. Could it be worth the embarrassment? Daniel already knew, after all, and it wasn't as if their relationship had broken any regs... but still, he didn't tell the General personal stuff like that.

"But what if it doesn't work?"

"I don't know, Colonel. I still think the best option would be to just tell MacKenzie why you hate her so much. Besides, I had to spill my metaphorical guts in front of him, it would only be fair if you did too."

"Well tough, there's no way I'm telling him squat. Or–"

She raised a hand, cutting him short. "Or me, I got it. It's your dimension, you don't owe me anything. Fine."

Her tone was cold and matter-of-fact; the hardass front was firmly back in place. But something about her statement gave him a twinge of... sadness? Unease? Well it was true, for all she'd revealed, he hadn't shown her anything in return. But then again, could he trust her? Some part of him wanted to, but luckily the rest of him had better judgement.

"I may have an idea," she said after thinking quietly for a moment. "Unless you have any qualms about lying to MacKenzie."

"I'm all ears."

"Give him something personal – anything, even if it's a bit fat lie. He's not used to you opening up and probably doesn't know much about you outside of what might be written in your files. As long as the story is plausible, he'll probably lap it up."

"So, what, I have to invent a reason why I dislike her."

"Yeah. Something that he can't easily check."

O'Neill was drawing a blank, but at least it was the beginning of a plan. That was more than he'd had five minutes back.

"I'll think of something," he said. "Is that it?"

"No, he has to think that you're feeling a strong emotion. Draw on your dislike for her, get angry with me."

His dislike for her... it sounded so strange, coming from her double, and she was so pragmatic about it now. As if she hadn't broken down in tears the other day because... well. Maybe she was able to keep things straight in her head and separate him and the other O'Neill, but it was damn confusing for him.

"Colonel?"

"So basically I get pissed and I... what, tell you why I don't like you? Something plausible."

"Right."

"And that'll be enough."

"Well there needs to be some kind of reconciliation afterwards. MacKenzie wants us to clear the air and start fresh, or something similar. But don't rush it – if we don't have time for that, if the occasion doesn't arise, we keep that for next week."

"Fine."

"Okay. I'll try to guide you during the sessions. If you see me rest my head on my hand, continue in that direction. If I close my hand into a fist, you're on the wrong track."

It was like a battle plan, and he wasn't sure if he should be impressed or downright frightened by Walsh's ability to figure out a manipulation scenario as easily as this. He wondered if Maggie had been the same. She certainly knew which of his buttons to push to get a reaction.

They soon got to MacKenzie's office, and he greeted them with the creepy smile and that patronising tone O'Neill hated so much. Settling down in his office with Walsh felt much less awkward, strangely. He made a point of not looking at her and school his face into a neutral mask, trying to remember where they'd been at the last time. It felt like that was ages ago.

"So, Colonel O'Neill, Ms Walsh, have you had any opportunities to talk during the past two weeks."

"Not really," said O'Neill.

"No," said Walsh, practically at the same time.

He winced inside. That was a bit of a giveaway, but MacKenzie didn't seem to have picked up on it.

"Why not?"

There was a pause as O'Neill waited for her to answer. When she didn't, he said: "I have better things to do with my time. Offworld missions, writing reports, clipping my toenails, that kind of thing."

"And as you may know, I was unwell for the past few weeks," said Walsh tartly. There was accusation in her voice.

"Ah, yes, withdrawal from an SSRI, I hear. One that you had started taking when the Colonel O'Neill in your dimension died."

She gave an impatient little snort. "And when Carter and Daniel died. Right after General Hammond was killed and Maybourne took his place. It was a stressful time."

"Of course, of course," said MacKenzie in a sort of placating tone that still managed to sound condescending. Then he turned to O'Neill. "Well, Colonel, have you had time to think about what Ms Walsh revealed about her relationship with your alter ego?"

"I don't really care what she did with some other version of myself, doc. Not my fault if other O'Neills have bad taste and poor judgement."

Okay, so he wasn't exactly proud of that nasty comment, but it might get the ball rolling. Walsh shifted so her face rested in her open hand. So far so good.

"Bad taste, how do you mean?" asked MacKenzie.

"Well, Walsh was a stuck-up obsessive-compulsive unethical power hungry manipulative bitch." That felt good to say. And it described Maggie well, at least in her worst days.

"And why did that bother you?"

"Well why do you think?!" He noticed Walsh's hand slide into a fist. Okay so no sarcasm, no rhetorical questions, tempting as it was. He took a deep breath. "Because I had to work with her. She was experimenting on young recruits, trying to make them better and stronger and faster. I don't like that kind of stuff."

"Why not?"

God, he was infuriating, but O'Neill could tell that he was curious. He'd stopped with the fake grin and was looking at him intently. "Because I have morals? Principles? She didn't. She'd just walk all over people to get what she wanted."

"Is that why you and Dr Walsh got into arguments in the early 90ies?"

Oh swell, he'd got hold of that piece of information from his record, no doubt. "Damn right it was."

Well, it was mostly that. Maybe sometimes he'd pushed it, though. Back in the day, she was far from sewing bits of demon together or getting her recruits hooked on pills. He may have been looking for reasons to disagree with her because there was something about their verbal jousts that just... well. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

"But you've got into arguments with a lot of people over the years, and never displayed the behaviour that you've shown this lady now."

He shrugged. "What can I say, maybe we're just made to hate each other's guts."

Walsh's hand turned to a fist again. He wondered if she was disagreeing with him or if she was trying to get him to change directions. And then it dawned on him that if he left it at that, irreconcilable differences, they'd never be able to go forward, would they? Damn.

"Colonel, sometimes people that trigger such strong reactions remind us of a traumatic episode. Do you think this could be the case?"

Oh trust him to go all Freudian. Was he going to try and get them to talk about their childhoods now? Jesus. Walsh's hand slid open, but he had no idea what to say.

"A traumatic episode?"

"Someone who harmed you, perhaps?"

He had it. It wasn't even that much of a stretch. "Well, I had a teacher in eighth grade. She was... strict and sarcastic and domineering. And she wore the same earrings." He'd made up the earrings part, but it sounded like something that might work.

"The same earrings, you say?"

"Yeah, little pearls. There was... something similar in general. That rigid way of speaking and acting, the way Walsh would control and chastise the kids she was training, always wanting them to be better. It drove me nuts when I saw it."

He could see MacKenzie was eager for more. "Did you ever get punished by this teacher? Chastised?"

"All the time."

"Did she want to make you better?"

"Whatever her definition of better was, yeah."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Oh god, that question again. "Bad?" Walsh shot him a look and raised her eyebrows slightly, and he did his best not to roll his eyes back at her. "It was humiliating and uncalled for. I thought it was unfair. I thought it was wrong."

"Did you tell her that?"

"I was thirteen, I didn't talk back quite as much in those days."

"So... do you think that maybe you projected the bottled up anger and resentment on Dr Walsh?"

"I guess it's possible."

"Has Ms Walsh here given you any cause to feel this same shame and humiliation? Does she have the same domineering attitude you describe?"

"Not exactly."

"And I don't see any pearl earrings." MacKenzie smiled, as if they were all sharing a good joke. Ugh.

"Well, old habits die hard."

"Why don't you tell Ms Walsh how she makes you feel? Clear the air."

He glanced over at her and could tell she was expecting him to do it. It was part of the plan, after all.

"Fine." He turned towards her, but couldn't quite bring himself to look her directly in the eye. "Walsh, you piss me off. Every time I hear your voice, I feel like I'm this kid again and I don't like it." God it sounded so lame, but he could see MacKenzie nodding in encouragement. "I thought I was all in the past, but obviously I'm not over it yet. I don't like having you around as a... reminder."

Their eyes had met while they were speaking; he went quiet when he realised it, suddenly feeling exposed. God, he wasn't sure if he'd been spinning a line or being sincere just then. Maybe she could tell, too, because her eyes were glimmering, nearly... gentle, if that was possible for her.

"Colonel," she said. "I know that this isn't coming from the right woman, from the one who actually hurt you... but I would like to apologise for upsetting you. I for one don't want to hurt you, don't enjoy hurting you. I'm sorry that I remind you of these things."

As apologies went, it was a pretty good one. Her voice had been soft and kind, betraying hints of emotion. He was pretty sure neither of them was talking about the teacher thing anymore. His mouth was dry; he looked away from her.

"Colonel, do you have anything to say to that?"

This was the crunch. He had to get this right so that MacKenzie would leave them alone. He looked back up, not at her, at best towards her. "Well, give me some time. I can't forgive you right away, but... now I've realised why I'm doing this, I guess I don't see it the same way anymore." Which was total bullshit, but he sensed MacKenzie would love that kind of line. "And... I'm sorry I gave you all the attitude." And maybe, just maybe, that was a little bit true.

"All right," said MacKenzie. "Will you shake on it? A peace gesture?"

They both stood up and shook hands. It was awkward, very unfamiliar. He'd touched Maggie in all kinds of different ways in the time he'd known her, but he didn't remember handshakes. Her grip was firm, but her hands were cool and a little clammy. He wasn't sure his felt much nicer.

"Okay. I think we'll end here for today, you did some good work. Colonel, I want a follow-up session in two weeks, in private, to discuss how your feelings are evolving. Ms Walsh, I will continue to see you as the SGC sees fit."

"Can we go now?" asked O'Neill. He'd stepped away from Walsh, feeling vulnerable in a way he couldn't explain. Trying to figure out what was real or not during the session was making his head hurt, and an unpleasant empty aching feeling lingered in his chest.

"You may go," said MacKenzie.

They walked out of the office, forced to shake the shrink's hand as he escorted them out. MacKenzie closed the door behind them, and they walked down the corridor in silence.

"That went well," she said as they turned the corner.

"I guess, yeah." The victory might seem sweeter when he got away from her. All the feelings that had come up during that little apology scene still nagged at him.

"He looked as if he'd found the Holy Grail," said Walsh. "I have to admit you were pretty inspired."

"I still don't like the fact that he went prying into my childhood."

"You got the result you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yeah..."

"And you didn't reveal the real reason you're unhappy with her. Right?"

"Well I wasn't as traumatised by tyrannical schoolteachers as I made him believe, that's for sure."

"In that case, you've got the best result possible while revealing the least personal information. It seems to me that you couldn't have done better."

Incredibly, her reasoning soothed him. Maggie used to have the same effect, the same knack for presenting facts in a certain way to make them more acceptable. Was that a shrink thing? Or manipulation? Maybe that was the same.

"Anyhow, it looks like you've seen the last of me for a while," she said as they got into the elevator.

"Oh, trust me, I'll be around. Got to come by and make sure you're not building a Goa'uld robot in the labs or something."

"Well, that's your prerogative." The elevator stopped at level 25 and she stepped out. "Goodbye, Colonel."

He nodded curtly, watching as she walked away. She was so calm and collected now, compared to that hour they'd spent in the storage room. It still made him wonder which part of it was an act, the cool front or the vulnerable side. The fact that she was so good at manipulating a therapy session didn't exactly make him more trusting, even though she'd helped him. She'd helped herself too, after all.

Still... the way she'd looked at him, the apology... that was going to bug him for a while.

* * *

General Hammond was having a rather good day. No major threats to any of the SG teams in the last week. Dr Jackson had managed to get them a pretty nice deal with the treaty he'd recently brokered. And Colonel O'Neill finally seemed to be less irritable.

In fact, Hammond thought he might have had a hand in that. It hadn't been entirely intentional, really, at least not the part where O'Neill and Walsh had ended up in a room together for an hour – that had just been an added bonus. He'd wanted to check Walsh's loyalties, and putting her in the middle of that exercise had been enlightening. Perhaps it was cruel to make her relive something that Hammond now truly believed had been traumatic for her, but he had to be sure. Za'tarc detectors were all very well and good, but at the end of the day he preferred to rely on something a little less theoretical.

Dr MacKenzie had also called him to announce that he believed that he'd found out the key to O'Neill and Walsh's dislike, and that they'd solved their problems. Hammond didn't buy it for a second. Well, he didn't believe that O'Neill had told Dr MacKenzie the truth, anyway, especially not after only two sessions. But since the Colonel seemed to have got a grip over his mood, and perhaps even managed to cooperate with Walsh during those sessions, he wasn't going to push it.

He knocked on Walsh's door and entered when she invited him in. The room was one of the smaller VIP suites, but he imagined it was better than the bleak isolation rooms where they'd kept Walsh and Kawalsky at first. Walsh stood at attention as soon as he entered.

"At ease, Doctor," said Hammond. "You're not in the Air Force anymore."

She relaxed a little. "It's going to be hard to shake the habit, sir."

Hammond looked at her for a moment. Ten days ago Walsh had seemed such a mess that he'd wondered if a trip to a mental ward would be necessary. He hadn't really wanted to let her out of his sight, though, especially not with all she knew. But Dr Fraiser had said Walsh would get better, and as usual she'd been quite right; Hammond could tell Walsh was on the mend.

"How are you feeling, Dr Walsh?"

"I'm not in top form, General, but things are improving."

"Dr Fraiser told me that you'd still need a couple of weeks' rest before you could start working full time. She did suggest you could start working as a mission consultant."

"Sir?" Hammond was pretty sure he could see enthusiasm in her eyes.

"You will be using the knowledge you have of various addresses to help us recognise friendly and hostile worlds, as well as actively taking part in the search for the planet where you landed."

She nodded. "I imagine that you may also need my knowledge of Goa'uld biology."

"I will, Doctor, but I understand that it's a delicate matter and that you need to be in full possession of your faculties."

She smiled grimly. "Yes. I doubt that I could concentrate enough right now to be able to be perfectly accurate."

"Then you work on getting better, Doctor. It's an invaluable resource for us."

"Of course." There was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. Hammond guessed that she didn't like being kept around chiefly because of some vital information she possessed, but that's how things were. The truth was, he wasn't sure what they would have done with her if she didn't have anything to contribute to the SGC. She was still a potential liability.

"For the time being, we'll give you some information on planets we're planning to visit. You'll be working with Major Kawalsky on this. Which reminds me, are you planning on enlisting again?"

She gave a derisive snort. "Don't worry, sir, I know my chances wouldn't be good. I was thinking of retirement anyway."

"Well, I can't hide that it would make things easier on you and on us if you didn't. On the other hand, you do need an official identity. The Pentagon was able to keep Professor Walsh's death very quiet, and Major Davis believes that it would be rather simple to pass off her death as a mistake in the paperwork."

She stared at him, opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head slightly.

"Yes, Doctor, I also thought that it sounded strange. But Major Davis pointed out that Professor Walsh had no next of kin and nobody to claim her belongings, to the point where everything she had is either frozen in the bank or sealed away in the small flat she had in Sunnydale. These belongings would rightfully be yours, if we went ahead with the identity change. It sounds like quite a good deal to me."

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, did you have any living family in your dimension?"

She shook her head. "But I had friends. And a will."

"Well, Professor Walsh didn't seem to have anticipated her own demise. And it may be possible that people who knew here are unaware of her death; everything was hushed up considerably, we're even having trouble locating where and when she was buried."

She smiled weakly. "Well, I suppose that's to my advantage."

"I hear that you and Colonel O'Neill solved some of your problems."

"Yes. The Colonel is aware of my relationship with his alter-ego. And we realised during our last session together that he'd been very aggressive towards me because I triggered bad memories."

Bad memories, huh. Well that was probably true, but Hammond still wondered about the particulars. He was pretty sure it was something very personal, or else O'Neill would have already told him by now.

Walsh seemed uneasy as the silence drew out. "Anyhow, I have no desire to antagonise the Colonel, or anyone else in this base, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, I'll let you rest, doctor, and you can start work with Major Kawalsky tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll get Major Davis to sort out the paperwork for your identification."

"Yes, sir. And thank you."

He nodded and walked out, mulling over their conversation, trying to figure the woman out. She seemed keen to have something to do, and he couldn't blame her: being locked up below ground with nothing to do couldn't be much fun, and he didn't think they'd be letting her out of their sight for a while yet. It was also encouraging that he could see, well, expressions on her face. The rigidity, the control that she'd exhibited at first – and the haughtiness – had been rather unsettling.

Now there was something more human, more alive in those cool eyes. If she really was their ally, and if her mental health didn't prove to be a problem, he was fairly sure that that they'd be able to integrate her into the SGC. God knew they needed any help they could get against the Goa'uld.


	12. Chapter 12

"So Carter, whatcha working on now?"

Carter started, nearly dropping her soldering iron, as Colonel O'Neill entered her laboratory without warning. She gave a small smile and pulled her goggles off.

"Still the naquadah reactor, sir. I think I can boost it by fifteen percent if I just interface it with the–"

"Ah!" He shook a finger at her.

"Sorry, sir."

"You know we ship out in two hours?"

"Sir?"

"I'd like to leave on time, is all," he said with a slightly condescending smirk.

She slapped on a fake smile. "Yes, sir, we will."

So sometimes she got a little caught up in her work and had to rush to the locker room without having lunch. It wasn't as if it didn't happen to Daniel, too. At least _she_ remembered to sleep and didn't spend whole diplomatic missions yawning. Usually.

"Good." He turned to leave, but something seemed to catch his eye. "Whoa. Is this supposed to do that?"

Carter saw what he was looking at and cringed. She'd been measuring the activity of the various dog-tags that morning, comparing their decay rates. Walsh's hadn't changed at all, probably because her counterpart never had any dog-tags in their dimension. Kawalsky's were undergoing steadily increasing fluctuations, and Colonel O'Neill's were giving off impressive heat surges. She'd left them hanging around in their heat-proof foam, and as the Colonel stood close to the tags, they actually turned red-hot.

"Uh, yes, sir, kind of."

"Really?"

He came closer to the glowing tag. She approached too, uneasiness creeping up unpleasantly along her spine. Then again, General Hammond had instructed her not to say anything whilst Colonel O'Neill was working through his differences with Walsh. That seemed to be done. Carter had always thought that he needed to know about it anyway.

"It's temporal entropic failure happening on..." She considered using a technical term and thought better of it. "Well, on stainless steel, actually."

"This looks like an ID tag," said the Colonel. For once – now that he wasn't _meant_ to know – he seemed curious.

"It is, sir," said Carter, clearing her throat.

Then again, she didn't really want to be the origin of a new spat between the Colonel and Walsh, especially now that Walsh was on the brink of explaining the technology that had allowed people in her dimension to remove Goa'uld symbiotes. Walsh had been working on this for the last couple weeks and was scheduled to give her first presentation to the General and several medical staff members the next day, if memory served. Now maybe wasn't the best time...

"From Walsh's dimension?" The Colonel was bending over the smouldering piece of metal, his eyes scrunched up against the glare and heat.

"Sir, it's really not safe for you to get that close," said Carter, seeing the tag fluctuate from red-hot to white-hot. It seemed that being this close to its counterpart from this dimension was causing the tag to degenerate even faster.

"Looks like it's getting worse," he said, taking a step back. The brilliant white faded to red again. Carter prayed that he wouldn't pick up on it, but she seemed to be out of luck. "How come it cooled off when I stepped away?"

"Well... you see, Colonel, apparently when two objects from different dimensions are in each other's presence, the duplicate suffers molecular failure. In the case of steel, the failure causes a movement in the atoms that make up the molecules. This causes an energy surge that heats the metal."

He looked at her blankly. Maybe she could put him off with scientific jargon after all.

"Hey, what's going on in here?" Daniel had just come in. He immediately took in the glowing dog-tag. "What's that?"

"Some kind of ID tag that's doing the temporal failure thing when I get close to it," said Colonel O'Neill.

Carter gritted her teeth, feeling that all attempts to cover up were now doomed, unless she managed to stop Daniel from thinking out loud.

"Wow, that's impressive. You sure it's safe, Sam?" asked Daniel, looking at the tag with interest. "Who does it belong to?"

Carter opened her mouth and closed it again. She hated lying to Daniel or the Colonel, but General Hammond had been quite clear about it. That had to come first.

"I'm not really meant to say."

"Huh?" went Daniel.

Colonel O'Neill raised his eyebrows. "Carter?"

"It's kind of classified, sir." The horrible cold sweat of awkward situations was forming on her forehead and palms. Great.

"Oh!" exclaimed Daniel in what Carter supposed was a sudden realisation.

"Oh?" asked the Colonel, who probably recognised that sound. "Daniel, care to share?"

Carter made a face at Daniel and shook her head lightly. The Colonel didn't seem to notice, he was looking at Daniel and waiting for him to say something, but Daniel definitely picked up on it.

"Oh, er, I mean, ah... well, classified material... it's not really our place to pry. Is it, Jack?"

He'd spoken in the hyper, nervous tone he often used when he was trying to lie. Damn him, he was as bad at this as she was. The Colonel knew that tone by heart and glared at him, then at her.

"What are you two hiding from me?" Then it suddenly seemed to hit him. "If it's getting worse when I'm near it, it's got something to do with me. They're mine?" He moved towards the tags, but they went white-hot again. They were most probably illegible by now, and on the way to melting completely.

"Who brought them here?" asked O'Neill, not detracted from his point by the melted down letters.

"Sir, I'm not meant to–"

"Walsh."

He marched out of the lab in a huff. Carter grimaced as she heard him storm down the corridor, towards the laboratory Dr Walsh had been assigned for the time being.

"Ah crap," muttered Daniel. "Well I guess it was to be expected." He hurried after the Colonel.

Carter followed slowly, not sure if she wanted to see what was going to happen next. Still, it was a relief that she wasn't forced to keep the secret from Colonel O'Neill any longer. Maybe he'd be able to shed some light on this dog-tag situation; the whole thing had been bugging Carter since day one.

"You're gonna explain something to me," Carter heard the Colonel tell Walsh, his voice controlled but very sharp. "Why does Carter have a set of my ID tags back in her lab? Tags from your dimension?"

"What?"

Carter stopped beside Daniel at the door, just in time to catch Walsh's expression. She was sitting at her computer, looking up at the Colonel. She looked very pale and surprised.

"Don't play dumb with me. Why did you have my ID tags on you when you came here?" His voice was getting louder.

"I..." Walsh let out a sigh and shook her head. "Fine. Close the door."

She shot a glance at Carter and Daniel; Carter didn't know where to look, torn between the desire to know – and to support the Colonel in his enquiry – and the feeling that she'd done something wrong. The Colonel followed Walsh's gaze, making Carter feel even more out of place.

"Or, you know, we could just go..." said Daniel quickly.

"No, you know what, Walsh? I think they deserve to know. So why don't you tell us what kind of freak steals tags from their dead CO!"

Daniel groaned and rubbed his hand over his face.

Walsh stood up, scowling. "I didn't steal anything, how d–"

"I always knew you'd been feeding me bullshit," the Colonel cut in. "Tight-knit team my ass, you were just waiting for an occasion to take over!"

Walsh strode towards the Colonel and planted herself in front of him, closer than Carter would ever have dared to go. For a moment, she thought Walsh was going to slap him, but she just stood there, glowering.

"You want an explanation? Fine. But you really don't want me to say this in front of your team, O'Neill. If you've got a half a brain, you'll figure out why." Her voice was surprisingly quiet and controlled, despite the furious expression on her face.

"Jeez. Fine."

Carter really hadn't expected the Colonel to give in like this. She stared dumbly as he turned around, marched to the door and slammed it shut.

"Oh well, I guess we could get coffee," said Daniel.

"What?"

"Or pack, or something."

"But... you saw his face, Daniel..."

There were raised voices in the lab. Carter was pretty sure that the Colonel had just called Walsh a manipulator and she'd called him a dick.

"No, but really, Sam. He can handle her. Or she can handle him."

Carter wasn't so sure. The Colonel wasn't a violent man, but he had a temper; she didn't know what he was capable of if he felt Walsh was a threat to him or to the base. And if she lost control and hit him, well...

"Major Carter, Daniel Jackson. Is something amiss?"

Teal'c had just appeared from god knew where, and given Carter a start.

"Just tell me how the hell you got them before I lose my goddamn patience!" they heard the Colonel shout.

Daniel cleared his throat. "There's a thing with Jack's dog tags... well, the other Jack's dog tags..."

"I am aware of Dr Walsh's having carried them back to this world, Daniel Jackson."

"You are? Huh. Well, Jack just found out. And, well, he's..."

Teal'c nodded knowingly, as if he had some deeper understanding of the situation. Even Daniel... well he hadn't seemed surprised or worried about it at all, had he?

"They were in my flat, okay? I found them after the funeral," Walsh shouted back.

"That office really isn't soundproofed, is it?" mumbled Daniel.

"In your _flat_?!"

"They skidded under my bed! Jack thought he'd lost them offworld and got them replaced ages ago!"

"But why the hell would they be und– Oh."

Oh god. So Kawalsky's comment about a lovers' tiff had been based on something he knew? But they were both on SG-1. There was no way the Colonel, even an alternate one, would do that with a teammate. Surely not. Carter took a deep breath; she felt a little sick.

There was a rumble of sharp words, scolding, bickering. Carter didn't want to hear it anymore. Especially not with Daniel and Teal'c standing there too. Then the room went quiet; an awkward, drawn-out silence fell on the corridor. Carter could practically hear her own heartbeat.

"Soooo, er, what about that coffee?" said Daniel.

Things were starting to make sense. The Colonel knew about Walsh and his alter ego's relationship, and he'd told Daniel. So now Daniel was... what? Trying to smooth things over? To give Walsh and the Colonel some privacy? To spare Carter's feelings?

Just as Carter was about to make an excuse and flee, Colonel O'Neill came out again. He still looked irritated, but also flushed. Carter wondered if it was out of anger or, well, what else? Embarrassment? Or... what had that silence been about, anyway?

"What are you all doing hanging around here?" he snapped. "We're meant to ship out at 1200 hours. Get packing."

"Sir," said Carter automatically. But the Colonel had already stormed off.

Carter glanced at Walsh, unwilling to make direct eye contact with her. Walsh was settling back down at her desk, her face no longer as pale and her breath slightly short.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked her.

She turned, an annoyed expression on her face, as if he'd disturbed her. "I'm fine, thank you. Show's over."

Carter didn't need telling twice. She gave a curt nod towards Walsh, still trying not to look her in the eye, and fled back towards her lab. This whole thing was leaving a particularly bad taste in her mouth. She had to get her mind onto something else, and fast. It wouldn't do to go into a mission feeling like this.


	13. Chapter 13

Kawalsky watched in surprise as Walsh whaled on the punching bag, clearly in a rage. He'd seen her work out and spar a from time to time, but as far as he knew she preferred fighting with words – or a gun – than hand-to-hand. In any case he'd never seen her work through some kind of mood in the training room. When she was in a mood, she usually–

"What the hell are you looking at, Kawalsky?"

She usually picked on innocent bystanders. Oops. He put on his best "I wasn't looking at anything ma'am" face and went back to his weight training. It was too late, though; she strode up to his bench.

"Go on, Kawalsky, say it! Everyone else is gawping at me, I might as well know if I've grown an extra head, or if I suddenly look like some kind of criminal!"

Kawalsky grimaced. "So O'Neill got under your skin again, huh?"

She let out a sound that could have been a bark of laughter or some kind of frustrated growl. "That obvious?"

"Let's just say I wouldn't like to be that punch bag," said Kawalsky.

And it was true. She didn't look like much, but he was pretty sure that what she lacked in upper body strength she made up in sheer meanness. Also, it was a well-known fact that doctors knew how to administer pain just as well as they could heal it.

She grabbed a towel and started dabbing the sweat from her face and shoulders. He didn't know what to say; in fact he didn't really want to get involved in this. The last month or so had been peaceful. SG-1 and SG-8 had even gone out together to help out some Jaffa rebels the previous week, and Kawalsky had some hope of rekindling his old friendship with O'Neill. But if he got into fights with Walsh again...

"Don't worry, Charles, I'm not going to make you pick sides," she said at last. He hated when she did that, it felt like she was reading his mind. "And you're safe, he only has it in for me. I don't think I'll ever convince him I'm not some kind of psychopath."

"What happened?"

She rubbed her face with her towel some more. For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer. "Remember Jack had to get some new tags a couple weeks before... you know."

"Yeah, I remember he was pissed about losing 'em."

She nodded. "Well, I found the old ones after the funeral. In my flat."

"Ah."

He'd suspected that they'd been at it again, even though it was a pretty dumb idea within an SG team. Not that doing it during black ops missions was much better, but since they were on "unofficial" missions they'd had more freedom, been much less under scrutiny than in the Stargate Program's flagship team.

"Anyway, I... kept them in my stuff."

She sounded so embarrassed. Not about the flat thing. He knew Walsh well enough by now to know she wasn't all that embarrassed about sex stuff. But keeping Jack's tags for sentimental reasons? It was like admitting to some terrible weakness. As if he himself hadn't kept a bunch of crap Jack or Louis had left him.

"A memento, I get that."

"Well, they found the tags on me when I got here, and for some reason gave them to Carter so that she could study them. O'Neill saw them, and now he thinks I stole them from him after his death."

"What? That's just dumb. Does he know you and Jack...?"

"Yeah, he knows, but I'm not sure he believes me."

"Well if you need a witness..."

"You'd be my witness to convince him Jack and I were having sex?" There was a mischievous glint in her eye.

Kawalsky snickered. "I was thinking more of a character witness. Didn't they ask you about all that in the interrogations, anyway? I mean they asked me some pretty pointed questions about you, I figured they'd got you to tell them about it."

"Of course they asked me, in sordid detail. General Hammond must believe me since he gave me a job here, but O'Neill... I dunno. He acts like I made up the whole story. He even though I I managed to cheat the Za'tarc detector."

"Heh, I managed to keep a couple of... salty things from it. I guess they weren't that important in the grand scheme of things."

Or at least not as important as Walsh's relationship with Jack had been to her. If it had just been sex, she might have been able to fly under the radar, just like he had.

Walsh nodded. "Well good for you, it could've seriously hindered your career."

"Could've been worth it just to see Hammond's face when I asked him to respect 'don't ask don't tell'."

"I doubt he'd have been shocked. Most seasoned officers know that what goes on out there stays out there... and that a hell of a lot of things go on out there."

"Yeah. So anyhow, O'Neill's still got some pretty solid paranoia going, huh?"

"Tell me about it."

"I don't get it. I mean I've heard about that other Walsh, but it's not like she used him as a test subject or something, is it?"

"I wish I knew, but I'm pretty sure even Hammond doesn't know the whole story. He wouldn't have sent O'Neill to a shrink otherwise."

"So it's probably not something that would be recorded in official reports."

"No, probably not."

Which meant it was something personal. Either something that had happened in the shink's office, or... well, in the bedroom. Or both.

"So how did things go with SG-1 last week?" asked Walsh suddenly.

"Well they obviously sent me out there to make sure I understood the Jaffa rebellion and made friends with Teal'c."

Walsh had talked with him about Teal'c a few weeks back; she'd used that persuasion method where her very sensible arguments meant that she always ended up being right. It was a bit annoying, but she was doing it to help him fit in, after all. It was true that Teal'c made a good ally and the Jaffa rebellion thing was pretty interesting too, from a strategic point of view. He just had to make a really big effort and forget those mental pictures of Teal'c shooting down Jack and Carter. If Walsh could do it, so could he.

She smiled, one of those rare smiles that weren't sarcastic. "Did it work?"

"Well, we're not friends yet. I mean, he looks at me with this... face. You know what I mean, right?"

She nodded. "He looks rather forbidding."

"But then again, so do you, and I quite like you."

Walsh chuckled and got up, stretching. "You're going soft."

"Ooh don't ever say that to a man!"

She smirked. "Well, I have work to do. Thanks for the talk, Charles."

"Anytime."

He watched her walk out. She was doing much better: the anger, the sarcasm and particularly the returning sense of humour were a sign that things were getting back to normal for her. At least, as normal as things could be when you had to find a place amongst people who sometimes still looked at you like you were a particularly stubborn ghost.

* * *

O'Neill watched the hills surrounding their little camp, trying to let the noises of the night relax him. There was no sign of danger on this planet. There wasn't a sign of anything much except for this really old and obviously abandoned piece of temple with what looked like Inca or Mayan or whatever the hell pre-Columbian culture had found its way here.

And no danger meant he got bored. And getting bored meant that he thought about... stuff. Stuff that made him uncomfortable and angry and... goddammit.

He tried to keep his mind on Carter. That, at least, was a pretty valid concern. It was pretty obvious she wasn't happy, and that was bad, for several reasons. It threw a wrench in team dynamics, for one. For another, he liked Carter and she didn't deserve to get hurt. But most importantly, he felt that moments like these – he'd noticed how she'd looked at Laira, too – were building up to something he dreaded. A Talk. A Talk with a capital T where he was going to have to talk about his feelings. At least he'd figured them out now, mostly, but he wasn't sure Carter would like it.

That stupid time loop had been good for one thing at least. The kiss had been fun, liberating, enjoyable. It had been something he'd been thinking about doing quite a lot after the whole za'tarc thing. But once the exhilaration had worn off, he realised he hadn't exactly kissed her in the most serious spirit. It had been a lot about doing something forbidden and stupid, and not exactly about the two of them as a potential couple.

Why hadn't he tried again? Why had he done it at the end of a time loop, instead of giving them some time to talk, to sort out feelings and see where it would go? He hadn't even considered the option. Strangely the kiss had felt like closure rather than starting something.

He was starting to think that nothing was _meant_ to happen between them – ironical, considering the two dimensions where they were together. But nothing had even happened after they'd been mind-wiped and stuck in those mines, where there wasn't anything much to hold them back. That had to be another clue that something didn't quite click. He had plenty of feelings for Carter, but the chemistry, the irresistible draw... well, if there was one, it was buried deep.

And those thoughts, of course, led him to Walsh. Try as he might, his thoughts relentlessly came back to her.

He still didn't know why the hell he'd gone charging into her office. He could have gone to Hammond, that would have been more appropriate. But Carter wasn't meant to let him know about it and she might have ended up in trouble. That made a great excuse, except he hadn't even thought of that until a few hours ago. No... he was going to have to admit to himself that he'd been more than a little eager for a confrontation with Walsh.

It was a really old habit and like all old habits it came right back, instinctively. When Maggie did something annoying back in the 90ies, he'd storm into her office and they'd have a heated argument, usually one with quite a few half-baked accusations on his part and a lot of sharp retorts on hers. That was how it used to work. And then afterwards maybe he'd spend some time thinking about that heated argument, and about how things could have ended if they hadn't been in a public setting. And if he hadn't been married. Oy.

His stupid mind kept going back to Walsh's office that morning, to the way her pupils dilated and her nostrils flared and her frosty demeanour melted, replaced by a kind of rage that made her look more alive than ever. She wasn't afraid of calling him names and giving back as good as she got, and for some weird reason that really got him going. He'd thought about it. In the office, on the table. For a moment it had felt like it might even happen. They'd been staring at each other down silently, and the silence had taken on this... charge.

That really cheesed him off. Everything about Walsh cheesed him off at the moment, from her claim to having feelings for him and her maddening ability to make him believe it for a while, to her... well, her similarity with Maggie, and everything that entailed. That damn chemistry between them – the one he kind of wished he could have with Carter because somehow it would make things _so much simpler_ – showed up in all dimensions, apparently, and it wasn't welcome at all.

"O'Neill." Teal'c was coming back from a little recon around the camp and his arrival was a welcome interruption. The other two were supposed to be asleep in the tent already.

"See anything out there?" he asked as Teal'c settled down next to him by the fire.

"I did not."

Some kind of glowworm fluttered by lazily. There were crickets in the woods. It was pretty warm for the dead of night, especially next to their little fire; they'd been lucky enough to catch this planet in summer. This should be the most relaxing place in the galaxy, and yet...

"What troubles you, O'Neill?"

"I'm fine." Teal'c raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really. Don't I look fine?"

"You were rather displeased before our departure."

"Yeah well I'm better now."

More crickets. Maybe a cicada or two. Funny how insects on human-friendly planets were often kind of similar to those on earth. O'Neill tried to focus on that rather than on the thoughts of Carter and Walsh still swirling inside his head. Didn't work.

"How much did you hear?" he asked softly.

"To what you are referring, O'Neill?"

Teal'c was being a smartass and he knew it. "To that conversation behind closed doors on which you and Carter and Daniel weren't eavesdropping."

"We needed not eavesdrop, O'Neill, simply to listen. Your voices were sufficiently loud."

O'Neill rubbed his face with an irritated grunt. He'd been afraid of that.

"You are not responsible for what your alter ego did with Dr Walsh, O'Neill."

"I know that!" He winced when he realised that his voice had been louder and sharper than he'd meant it to be.

Teal'c just looked at him, his face an unreadable mask.

"That's not why I got angry," O'Neill said more quietly.

"Do you believe in your heart of hearts that she may have had sinister motivations in taking those identification tags?"

Trust Teal'c to go all deep on him. "I dunno. Honestly, Teal'c, I can't tell anything for sure about that woman."

"Are you speaking of Dr Walsh, or of the woman that you once knew?"

"Either, both. Same difference." He poked the fire with a stick.

"Am I then the same as the Teal'cs that others have encountered in different dimensions? Those versions of myself all still served Apophis and caused great harm to your planet."

O'Neill's mind boggled at that. "Come on, you know what I mean."

"Indeed I do not."

"Well I guess that Teal'cs in all dimensions are... kind of the same. Some just don't have the opportunity to change." Or refused it.

"Was Samantha Carter the same as Major Carter, O'Neill?"

Ugh, that was so low. "I think so? I mean you saw how they got when you put them side by side. They could have been twins, apart from ours being in the military."

Okay, so that was a pretty big difference. Their Carter had spent half her life in a culture the other only knew from the outside. It had to change her. She was a military woman as well as a scientist. That had to be the crucial difference, the thing that made the chemistry work in other dimensions, but not in theirs.

"Was the Doctor Walsh you knew not a civilian?" asked Teal'c, abruptly pulling O'Neill from his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, s _he_ didn't have black ops training. You know, the kind where they teach you how to extract intel and make people believe a bunch of lies."

"If Doctor Walsh is lying, then I believe that she is indeed excellent at deception."

"What makes you say that?"

"I happened to see Doctor Walsh during our foothold situation exercise. She watched me shoot you, O'Neill."

"Yeah?"

"Her face eloquently expressed horror and grief at your demise."

Ugh, Teal'c _had_ to remind him of that, didn't he? O'Neill had been aware of her approaching when he was on the ground, seen her pale, distraught face between half-closed eyelids and felt the way her fingers trembled on his throat. That wasn't how a psychopath behaved. It wasn't even how a medical doctor usually behaved. There had been some real emotion there. Why would she have felt the need to pretend?

"Major Kawalsky also appears to trust her."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "I know."

They hadn't talked about Walsh. Kawalsky was clever enough to keep his thoughts about her to himself and O'Neill was grateful for that. It was difficult enough to get used to Kawalsky again without having to be reminded that he and Walsh were buddies. But Kawalsky did have a good instinct about people... well, the one O'Neill had known did, anyhow.

"Much evidence suggests that Doctor Walsh is a better person than the one you once knew."

Was she really, though? What if the NID had encouraged her, pushed her until she got lost in the science, in playing God? What if she'd just lacked... something, someone that would have reminded her that you don't experiment on people or aliens or whatever those subterrestrials really were? Too many questions, not enough answers. He sighed.

"I dunno what to think, Teal'c. Just that it's way more complicated than I'd like."

Teal'c placed a firm hand on his shoulder for a moment; O'Neill wondered if that was a Jaffa way of saying "women, huh?". It definitely felt like it. They fell silent and watched the fire crackling, listened to the cicadas, but nothing managed to drown out the thoughts swarming around in O'Neill's head. There wouldn't be any sleep that night.


	14. Chapter 14

Daniel sighed as he fished a dead damsel out of the fish tank. Every time he came back from a mission, something like this happened. He really should change the water this week-end. He surveyed the tank closely to see if it wasn't some kind of contagious disease. No the clownfish and other damsels all looked happy, and the goby was skulking the rocks, as usual. He nodded to himself and went to dispose of the deceased fish.

Just as he was washing his hands, the phone rang. Hardly surprising, the phone always rang when his hands were wet. People scored bonus points for catching him in the bath. With a mild curse, he hurried to pick up before the answering machine took the call.

"Hello?"

"Uh... is that you, Daniel?"

"Rupert," said Daniel, a little uneasy. He'd avoided calling him back, knowing that it would only lead to questions and lies. He'd succeeded pretty well, it had been six weeks since that last phone call.

"Well, you sound happy to hear me," said Rupert sharply, clearly picking up on the unease.

"I am," said Daniel. "It's just... well, I've been busy, lately, I couldn't really call back."

At least it wasn't a lie. Between the getting Walsh and Kawalsky settled in, they'd been on quite a few missions. In fact he was just a little bit in love with the planet he'd just come back from, where they'd found ancient ruins of a civilisation that resembled Mayan ones. Of course, all Jack could do was bitch about it being boring and getting bitten by mosquitoes all night.

"Then you weren't avoiding me?" asked Rupert.

"Well... to be entirely truthful I didn't really know what I could say."

"That man shouting in the background gave you away, didn't he?"

"I guess he did," said Daniel with a small chuckle. "I don't really like keeping stuff from people, but I've signed all kinds of non-disclosure papers."

"I see. I hear that there's an Air Force base near Colorado Springs. Cheyenne Mountain?"

"You've been surfing the Web too much, Rupert."

"Me? On the Internet?" he chuckled. "Computers crash as soon as I'm in a three foot radius of them. No, no, I have my sources."

"You know that there are at least three other Air Force bases around Colorado Springs."

"Yes," said Rupert. "But I found out that Walsh and some of her recruits worked in Cheyenne Mountain, so that seemed the most likely place for you to be, considering you were asking about her."

"You're well informed," said Daniel. He hadn't expected his friend to make enquiries, which was pretty dumb of him, really. "And you're right, I do work there."

"Thank you. I don't mean to be intrusive, Daniel. It's just that things have been rather quiet around here and I... well, needed something to keep myself busy."

"You said something about blowing up your school..?"

Rupert laughed grimly. "Let's just say that it helped rid the world of a gigantic demon."

"So your Slayer really does save the world?"

"She does indeed. The demon I called you about, Acathla – she managed to stop the ritual. There would literally have been hell on earth if he'd been awoken. We've seen our fair share of dangerous vampires, of course. Though in the last year, things have been... well... a little strange."

"Strange compared to vampires and world-destroying demons?"

Rupert chuckled. "Well, yes. We had the military in Sunnydale, and things changed. Demons became frightened, a vampire got this chip in his head and then this Frankenstein's creature was on the loose thanks to that... that insane harpy."

"Well, I hope you don't think that I'm part of some evil organisation. Not everyone's like the..." NID. He nearly said it, oops. "Like the people who came to Sunnydale. In fact the work we do kinda resembles the one you do."

"Well, you must be quite convinced, if they managed to enrol you into one of their programs. The military doesn't exactly seem to be your usual style."

"Yeah, they had some pretty convincing arguments, let's just put it that way," Daniel said, hating that he wasn't able to say anything more. He'd probably said too much already.

"Although the last time I heard of your work, you were convinced that the Pyramids were landing stations for alien ships, so I'm a little surprised they would take you very seriously."

Ah, the good old ribbings about the Pyramids. That joke never got old in archaeologist circles, did it? Ugh.

"You know, I really wish I could tell you about some of the stuff I found out, but the information is really only given out on a need-to-know basis."

"As long as you're doing something that interests you... I'm certain that it's more interesting than my current activity."

"Which is?"

"Gentleman of leisure. In other words, bored witless." He sighed. "I'm seriously considering going back to England."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We really should meet up, though, before you leave."

"I'd like that. I have to admit that watching Buffy and all her friends live their lives, which apparently don't include me in them, is getting rather depressing."

Daniel pondered for a moment. "How old is she?"

"Who?"

"Your Slayer."

"She'll be turning twenty next year. That's... well, it's rather old, for a Slayer."

Daniel had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. "So you were the librarian in her school? And basically put yourself out of a job?"

"Give the man a cigar," replied Rupert dryly.

"No thanks – remember the last time I was in a smoked-up room?"

"You nearly died asphyxiated. How are those allergies?"

"Better, I have a great doctor. And thank goodness, Jack gave up smoking."

"Jack? Daniel, are you living with someone?"

"Huh? No! No, no, no, no, no." He realised that he'd blushed. "No, Jack's a colleague and a friend, we hang around together a lot, that's all."

"Oh," replied Rupert, clearly amused.

"He's the guy you heard shouting in the background last time I called."

"I thought that was just some bone-headed military type, considering the sounds he was making."

"Well... he is. Mostly. Just don't tell him I said that."

Rupert laughed. "I doubt that I'll be meeting him any time soon. Unless he's one who... oh what did Buffy say? Ah yes, the 'cute but suspiciously similar to an FBI agent' person we've seen hanging around Sunnydale lately."

Daniel snorted. "I doubt it."

"We've seen him snooping around Walsh's old apartment. Daniel, please don't tell me that you're involved in studying her zombie or something of the sort."

"Her what?"

"Didn't I tell you? Her creation, Adam, retrieved her corpse and reanimated it. I didn't get to see it, myself, but Buffy assured me that it was most disgusting."

"I'm sure it was. But no, to my knowledge, we don't have anything to do with zombies. Maybe they're just clearing up her stuff."

"Maybe." Rupert sighed. "Riley's been jittery about it, apparently. He's my Slayer's boyfriend, a former recruit of the Initiative."

"Oh... right. Is this the same guy who was trained up at Cheyenne Mountain?" He definitely remembered that name. If memory served, he was the one who'd hit the iris, when Walsh and Kawalsky came through the Stargate.

"Yes, he seemed... well, it's hard to put it in words, but I think that there was something between him and Professor Walsh."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't she a bit old for him?"

"Wha-No! No, no I-I-I mean... I think he cared for her more than... ah... than you normally would care for your... your superior or-or mentor or what have you."

Funny how that got Rupert all flustered, Daniel idly wondered why the idea could be so embarrassing.

"I don't know, I was always pretty fond of all the professors I assisted."

"To the point where you'd find excuses for them after they'd pumped you with chemicals and inserted chips into your chest in order to control you?"

"She did that?" It was the first he'd heard of a chip controlling a human being. That was pretty frightening, and pretty brilliant to achieve just with human technology. He wondered if Jack had been told about this, and how much more it would boost his paranoia if he found out.

Rupert sighed. "She did. But Riley's the sort... how would one put it... I suppose you'd say he's naively faithful."

"Uh-huh?" This was pretty interesting. She seemed to have left both Jack and this dimension's Riley with a lot of mixed feelings. Why would her assistant still believe that she wasn't an entirely bad person, after everything she did to him? Jack would say it was brainwashing, and maybe he'd be right. Or had there genuinely been some kind of affection there?

"He sees Walsh more like someone in need of professional help than... well, a monster. Which is what I think she might have been."

"I thought you were idealistic," teased Daniel. "Make the world a better place, give people a chance and all that?"

"Yes, that was before a number of traumatising events. I do believe that I've become more cynical, of late. Perhaps it was when Buffy's ex-boyfriend turned evil... or when the town's Mayor turned out to be a giant serpent-demon. I really can't decide."

"Sounds rough." Daniel felt for him. It sounded like living in Sunnydale was just as bad as working at the SGC, and with less pay. He remembered Rupert's comments about the broken fingers, he must have been in a hell of a fight, or perhaps tortured.

"Yes. And I was fired as Buffy's Watcher, so since she doesn't officially have to work with me, I see her less and less. So really, I'm not certain that I want to hang around here." He sighed. "Listen to me, prattling on. I know you're not supposed to tell me about your work, Daniel, but we'd better find a better topic than my everyday woes."

"That's challenging. I don't do much outside of work. It's very intense."

"Don't you get to see artefacts? I haven't seen one of your papers in ages."

"Well, I actually get to see more artefacts than ever. And it's all classified." Daniel sighed. "I've made some very interesting finds, and have lots of fascinating theories... none of which I can really discuss."

Rupert chuckled. "Well, let's see if you can help solve one of my current puzzles. Have you ever seen a funerary urn for a Greek god?"

"A what?"

That sounded... ludicrous. Greek gods were supposed to be immortal and reside in Olympus. At worst when demigods died they tended to become constellations – Daniel wondered if this was a metaphor for leaving through the Stargate to another world. In any case, why would they need an urn?

"Yes, that's just how I reacted, when I heard of it. You see, the local museum has asked me to look into it for an exhibition. We've received this early Hellenic vase, which depicts the story of Apollo slaying the dragon Python in Delphi. The strangest thing, though, are the inscriptions. Some are in Ancient Greek, but there's another piece of text in a language that I can't make out. I've never seen anything like it before, and that includes demon languages.'

All the alarm bells went off in Daniel's mind. "A what? What does it look like?"

"It looks a little like Linear A, but it's definitely not that. Besides, we still don't know how to translate Linear A, so..."

That sounded just like what they'd found on Pelops. "And the Greek? What does it say?"

"Well, it tells us that Apollo chased Gaia back to her home in Delphi and defeated her."

"That's not right, surely..." Daniel was already looking up the myth of Apollo in his reference books.

"Well no, the story most of us know is that Python was sent by Hera to punish Apollo's mother for sleeping with Zeus. It chased her, but when Apollo was old enough he chased Python back to Delphi and slew it in Gaia's shrine. Subsequently, he set up shop in Delphi."

"Right, yeah, that's from Hyginus."

"Only if I'm reading the Greek right, and I rather think I am, it seems to identify Gaia herself with a dragon... 'Gaia-drakaina'."

Daniel sat frozen, his mouth agape. The story of a so-called god slaying a dragon-goddess to take her place, and the Linear A, and the strange urn... it all reeked of the Goa'uld. For a long moment, he didn't know what to say.

"Daniel? Are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry, I was just... taking notes." He grabbed a paper and pencil and jotted down what Rupert had just said. "Is this an open urn?"

"No, it's sealed shut, we haven't actually opened it. Besides, Sunnydale museum is rather small, we should really ship it off to a place that can perform some kind of scan to see what's inside before we do anything rash."

"Whatever you do, don't open it," said Daniel urgently. It had to be a Goa'uld artefact, and goodness only knew what could be inside of it. He shuddered to think that another Goa'uld could be in there, but if they could do it with Osiris... damn. Damn damn damn.

"I didn't intend to. Are you all right, Daniel? You seem upset..."

"I... think that I'm going to need to come and check out that urn, Rupert. It could be dangerous."

"Yes, I thought it was rather suspicious too. I mean, it could be nothing, but if someone locked away a demon or something in there..."

"Look... uh... I work with a team of people who specialise in that kind of artefact. And we have the means to study it thoroughly and maybe make it safe. I mean, if it is what I think it is. Just... don't open it."

"I'll make certain nobody touches it before you arrive, then. When can I expect you?"

Daniel breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank god Rupert was taking him seriously. They discussed where and when they could meet, and he was pretty sure he told Rupert a hundred times not to break the seal. By the end of the call, he was covered in cold sweat, afraid for his friend and for Sunnydale. He took a deep breath, and dialled the SGC.

* * *

General Hammond waited in the briefing room, impatience and irritation growing with every passing minute. It was just like Dr Jackson to come up with bizarre, threatening news, which included civilians that weren't meant to know a thing about the Goa'uld. And in Sunnydale, to boot. If the reports were anything to go by, the town was strange and dangerous at the best of times. Well, at least the timing was rather good, in a twisted way.

Dr Walsh was the first to enter, followed closely by Teal'c. They'd both come down from the guest quarters, whereas the rest of the team was probably still in Colorado Springs.

"Teal'c, Dr Walsh, please take a seat. We're waiting for the rest of SG-1 to come in."

She gave a slight nod, frowning in a bemused way, and sat down. Teal'c settled down next to her, raising one of his eyebrows. They seemed to be getting along rather well, considering how wary of him Walsh had seemed at first.

Walsh had given a presentation on Goa'uld biology the previous day. Hammond wasn't a specialist in medicine and freely admitted that he hadn't understood the more technical aspects of her lecture, but her knowledge was clearly impressive and would prove very useful if they could verify it. Dr Warner and Dr Fraiser had been most interested in the home-made device their alter egos had helped invent to separate the symbiote from the brain, which involved a modified zat gun. In fact, Walsh's presentation was convincing enough for him to order a few technicians to start working on a similar device immediately. It may come in handy at any moment.

Dr Jackson came stumbling breathlessly into the briefing room.

"Am I late?" he gasped, dropping into a seat by Teal'c.

"No, Doctor, we're still waiting for Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter," replied Hammond.

"Oh, right." He was more than breathless; he was practically wheezing.

Walsh peered over at him. "Someone seems in dire need of antihistamines."

Dr Jackson coughed, and looked at her cluelessly. "What?"

"I believe Doctor Walsh is referring to your inability to catch your breath, Daniel Jackson."

"Oh!" He cleared his throat again, sneezed a couple times, and fumbled in his pockets. "Must've forgotten to take my pills."

Walsh smiled distantly at Dr Jackson as he went to pour himself a cup of water and swallow his antihistamines. Sometimes General Hammond forgot that Dr Jackson was still a geeky archaeologist with allergies, deep down.

Major Carter entered the room and saluted. "Sir."

"At ease, Major, and take a seat. We're waiting for Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes, sir." Major Carter settled down opposite Dr Jackson, who was still trying to catch his breath.

"You okay, Daniel?" she asked.

"Not really," he said hoarsely. "That's why General Hammond called us here."

Colonel O'Neill entered, saluting quickly. He took one look at Dr Walsh and his expression changed from mildly worried to completely unreadable. Well, at least it wasn't the ostensible hatred he'd shown before.

"You called, sir?"

"Yes, Colonel," said General Hammond, nodding to a seat. O'Neill sat down by Carter, as far as possible from Walsh. "I've called you here because we need to organise an outing in the town of Sunnydale in California, and the five of you are going."

He let the words sink in. O'Neill looked bewildered, whilst a flicker of interest lit up Walsh's face. Hammond wasn't surprised. She'd spent the last six weeks in an underground facility, without seeing sunlight, after all.

"Isn't it up to the Pentagon to clear up Walsh's mess?" asked O'Neill testily.

"That's not the reason for SG-1's visit to Sunnydale. Dr Walsh will accompany you on your flight to Sunnydale for practical reasons, but Major Davis will take charge of her once you arrive."

O'Neill didn't say anything, but he still didn't look very happy.

"In the meantime, SG-1 is going to investigate the possible presence of a Goa'uld artefact. Dr Jackson, this is your cue to explain the situation."

"Okay... I have a friend in Sunnydale, Dr Rupert Giles. He's an archaeologist and specialises in the occult. I had him on the phone just now and he told me about an urn that sounds as if it could be related to the Goa'uld, possibly Apollo or Gaia. It has inscriptions that could be like those we found on Pelops. And, well, you know what happened the last time we found Goa'ulds in urns..."

"And we can't just send in Davis or someone to get this urn thing and bring it back to the SGC?" asked O'Neill. It was a valid question.

Dr Jackson sighed. "No. This thing could be a Goa'uld item but it could also be some kind of demon artefact. If we bring it back to the SGC without examining it first, we could be bringing in something that we absolutely can't control. Rupert knows a lot more about demons than we do, and can deal with it in his own way, if it isn't Goa'uld."

General Hammond was intrigued by the lack of surprise the team showed when Dr Jackson mentioned demons. It was normal that Dr Walsh knew, but he'd have thought at least Major Carter would have protested, and that Teal'c may be confused.

"I take it from your reaction that you've all heard about these so-called demons?"

"Daniel broached the subject a few weeks ago, sir," said Carter. "Although I had no idea demons had artefacts. Next thing we know, you'll be talking about magic."

"Uh... I kind of am," said Dr Jackson, pulling a face. "Occult artefacts are made with... well, occult arts, such as magic, rituals, that kind of thing. And that's also how you deal with them."

"I'm sure there's a more rational explanation to it than that," said Carter.

"Carter, now is _not_ the time," said O'Neill with an irritated sigh. He turned back to Hammond. "So, basically, sir, we go in and examine that urn. If it's got something to do with the Goa'uld, we bring it back, if not, we leave it to them. Right?"

"That's right, Colonel."

"Uh, there is one thing," said Dr Jackson. "About Dr Walsh coming with us... I think that she might be recognised by people over there. Apparently... uh... well, I... heard that someone's noticed one of our people near her apartment. I guess it was Major Davis?"

Hammond glowered at Dr Jackson. So, that's where he got all his information. His friend in Sunnydale had probably been filling in the gaps they had purposely left when they'd presented Professor Walsh's work.

"Maybe some protection should be in order," said O'Neill thoughtfully. "There may be a few people who'll want to kick her ass if they recognise her."

"I agree, Colonel. A member of SG-1 can accompany her, and you'll all be carrying concealed weapons. I'm also sure we can find attire that will make her less recognisable."

O'Neill's pulled a face. "Yessir."

"Right. Then let's have you all ready to leave tomorrow at 0800 hours. Any more questions? No? Dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you so much for coming this far! As you can see, we're moving into a new part of the story and you can prepare to see a few more Buffy characters at some point in the not-so-distant future. Just a note to mention that feedback or discussion is always appreciated, whether you liked something or not or have questions, etc! I know this is an unconventional ship that might put off many readers, but I hope some of you are enjoying it.


	15. Chapter 15

Walsh stood on the runway, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses, narrowed against the glare of the midday sun. The heat coming off the tarmac blurred the small airport in the background. She took a moment to enjoy it, to breathe the admittedly not particularly fresh air. It still beat the base's constant air conditioning.

So this was Sunnydale, a small town hidden away in a bay on the Californian coast. It sounded so ordinary, considering that it was supposed to be the point of convergence of everything evil, or something equally ominous.

"You gonna just stand there?" said O'Neill as he moved towards the hangars.

They were all dressed in civilian clothes. Teal'c was wearing a rather unflattering fedora, obviously in an attempt to hide the tattoo on his forehead. O'Neill had a leather jacket on despite the heat, probably to hide his gun holster.

Daniel stopped next to Walsh as he exited the plane, apparently also taking in the view.

"I can't believe Rupert's managed to live here for this long," he said.

"Why's that?" asked Carter, who'd just followed him out.

"Well, he's British. I can't really imagine him without his daily dose of clouds and rain."

"Why did he stay here, then?"

"Well, it's because of the Slayer. You see–"

"Daniel? You done with the banter?" Ah, impatient O'Neill, a true classic in his arsenal of obnoxious behaviours. He was also wearing dark glasses, but Walsh was ready to bet he was watching her every move.

"Oh come on, that was hardly classified material."

"We're losing time," said O'Neill, tapping his watch impatiently. He then proceeded to lead the way towards god knew where, in as charming a mood as ever.

It had been hard for Walsh to put O'Neill out of her mind since the dog-tag incident. Things felt unbearably tense with him, there had even been a moment where she'd thought... well, it must have been her imagination, or old memories clouding her judgement. But it wasn't going to be easy to go through all the other Walsh's stuff with him breathing down her neck.

Then again, it could be worse. Carter might have to supervise her. The awkwardness between them was far worse than the bickering with O'Neill. Walsh hadn't wanted Carter to find out about her relationship with Jack. She suspected that there was always _something_ going on between Carter and O'Neill in pretty much every dimension; from Carter's expression when O'Neill had stormed off – and the fact that she'd stood around behind the office door instead of going about her business – it looked like she was right.

Major Davis walked out from one of the hangars to greet them, saluting discreetly. He looked very much how Walsh remembered him. Smart, professional, and slightly bored. All he was missing was the moustache he usually sported in her dimension.

"Colonel."

"Davis," muttered O'Neill.

"I take it this is Doctor Walsh?"

Walsh nodded at him. He didn't salute – he didn't need to, she reminded herself – or offer his hand. Instead, he looked her over critically.

"Well, I guess they won't recognise you like that."

She damn well hoped so. They'd let her use black BDU pants and a military issue brown T-shirt, which were different enough from the other Walsh's usual look, but they'd insisted on changing her hair colour. She'd managed to make them see sense about the black wig that made her look like a hooker – it was too hot for that anyway – but they'd made her a brunette for a day with some kind of mousse. She suspected it might drip if wet, but it looked different enough from her usual blonde. Still, she felt quite silly.

"If you're done admiring her dye job, I suggest we move," said O'Neill. "Carter can go and help Walsh with her stuff, and the rest of us will head off to your friend's."

"Er... you know, I think it might be better if Sam comes with Teal'c and me," said Daniel.

"And why's that?" O'Neill didn't look pleased at all. Carter was trying to keep a neutral expression, but Walsh would bet that she was pretty happy about Daniel's intervention.

"Well, you see... Rupert is... uh... let's put it this way: would you really want to be stuck in a museum with a pair of archaeologists discussing glyphs, mythology, carbon dating, the materials used, and how best to X-ray the artefact?"

"Besides, I might be able to help with the imaging techniques," said Carter quickly.

Walsh was certain O'Neill was glowering at them all behind his dark glasses.

"Fine," he snapped. "But you keep in touch, and you don't move from that museum without telling me where you're going."

"Yes sir," said Carter.

"Of course," said Daniel. He seemed rather relieved that O'Neill wouldn't be accompanying him. Perhaps he was worried that O'Neill would embarrass him in front of his friend.

They followed Major Davis to a small van awaiting them and climbed in. If she managed to ignore the stupid disguise and O'Neill's bad mood, Walsh thought that she might enjoy the ride through the strange little town.

* * *

The taxi pulled up by a large cement building with "Sunnydale Museum of Natural History" in gold letters on its front. Daniel stepped out, gazing around him. The museum was surrounded by a small park. It didn't seem like anything special, and Daniel would have probably never given it a second look if he hadn't known what it contained.

"You ready Daniel?" asked Sam.

"As much as I'll ever be."

There was a lounge at the entrance, small and stuffy with a few potted plants. Daniel's eyes fell on a gentleman in a blue sweater and corduroy trousers who was reading intently. That was definitely Rupert, though a pretty casual version of him. The last time Daniel had seen him he was always in tweed suits, starched shirts and terrible ties.

"That's him," said Daniel softly to Sam and Teal'c. Rupert must have heard his voice, because he looked up just when Daniel spoke, and started getting out of his seat.

"Daniel," he said, approaching with a smile. They shook hands, and Daniel had the impression that Rupert was somewhat warmer, or less stiff, than he used to be.

"It's good to see you, Rupert," said Daniel, smiling back at him. "I'd like you to meet my friends. This is Dr Samantha Carter. She's a physicist."

"Hi," said Sam, with one of her dazzling grins. Rupert mumbled a reply, shaking her hand gingerly, obviously flustered. Apparently he was still just as shy with women, then.

"And this is Teal'c," said Daniel.

"Hello," said Rupert, seeming slightly taken aback. Teal'c bowed in response. The atmosphere grew tense, as if they were trying to puzzle the other out.

"So, Rupert..." said Daniel, drawing his friend's attention back onto himself, "can we take a look at that urn?"

"Oh, yes. I asked the curator if he would let me examine it closely with a few other specialists, and he agreed. It's fortunately not his area of expertise."

He led them through the corridors of the museum, which were bleakly lit by neon lamps. The walls were padded with brown material that seemed rather cheap and gave the place an oppressive feel.

"So, how was your flight? You didn't have trouble finding this place, did you?" asked Rupert.

"It was fine," said Daniel with a smile. It certainly was much more comfortable to travel in a military aircraft than with a couple hundred noisy tourists. Well, as long as Jack kept his grumpy mouth shut at least. Daniel definitely wouldn't like to be in Walsh's place, or even Davis'.

"Do you know if you'll be spending the night here?" said Rupert, ushering them into a small work room off one of the corridors.

"Well, we booked rooms at some motel, but we may not stay. It really depends on what we find and how dangerous it could be."

The urn sat on the table; it didn't really look like much. It was practically heart-shaped, with a narrow neck and a complex wax seal holding the lid on. The handles, running from the mouth of the urn to the bottom of the neck, were still in good shape. Illustrations rolled around the yellowed clay in shades from black to ochre, representing Apollo blasting a very curvy snake-woman with rays from the sky.

At least Daniel thought it was Apollo; the harp was a good indication, but Daniel had never seen him represented with snakes twined around his arm. The art – the shape of the urn and its illustrations – looked Mycenaean rather than Hellenic, but the text was obviously Ancient Greek rather than Linear B as he would have expected with a Mycenaean artefact. That in itself was pretty weird.

"I suppose that you aren't allowed to tell me what it is you're looking for," said Rupert, breaking Daniel's train of thought.

"Well... actually..." Daniel blinked, trying to focus on Rupert rather than on the urn. "Actually, we can tell you about the Goa'uld. Our boss believes it's safer for you to know what they are and how to recognise their items, considering the quantity of demon artefacts that you see."

"The Goa'uld?" repeated Rupert, slightly bemused.

Daniel took a deep breath. This was going to be a very long and tedious explanation.

* * *

Major Davis drove them to what must have been a residential part of Sunnydale. The area where he stopped the van was made up of two-storey condos that seemed relatively new and expensive. Walsh followed Davis up the stairs of one of the buildings, feeling O'Neill's glare on her back. She'd ignored it so far, resolved that she wasn't going to let it bother her.

They got to the first floor, where one of the flats was sealed off with police tape. Davis neatly removed it with a cutter and unlocked the door. Walsh had been anticipating this moment, both dreading it and spoiling to see the place that had once belonged to her alter-ego.

The door opened, revealing a rather neutral interior. She followed Davis inside, through a short hallway and into the living room. Everything was dark until Davis opened the blinds, letting the sun pour into the room through large glass doors. Beyond them was a small balcony. Walsh glanced around her. Eggshell walls, bookshelves everywhere, a comfortable sofa, a desk on which a computer sat, and the copy of a Turner painting that had belonged to her parents hanging on the wall... it wasn't that different from the flat she'd kept in Colorado Springs.

But it was still clear that this place hadn't been lived in for a while. The many potted plants had turned to browning stumps and dry stems. The saddest was perhaps the tall ficus tree standing in the corner. She'd had one in her own dimension and taken great care of it. The sight of it standing bare, its entire foliage strewn on the ground, curled and brown, was disturbing. Though perhaps not as much as the bookshelves, which were all empty. She stared at them for a long while.

"We've been doing a lot of sorting," said Davis.

His voice ringing out in the gloomy silence of the room startled her. She turned to him slowly, and he smiled apologetically. O'Neill was lurking in the hallway, as if he didn't quite dare to enter the room.

"She left a lot of private records of classified experiments," continued Davis. "We've shipped them to Area 51 with the rest of Professor Walsh's experiment reports and anything else sensitive. Basically, everything in those boxes should be safe." He pointed at a number of cardboard boxes piled up in different corners of the flat.

"Yes," replied Walsh absently. "I understand."

"You'll find clothes and other personal belongings in the bedroom, also boxed up," continued Davis. "We'll need to check again, but you should be able to bring those back to the SGC, if that's what you'd like."

She took a deep breath. They'd been going through her alter ego's belongings. Through her bedroom drawers, her photo albums, her diaries, her private correspondence. They would know about anything she and Professor Walsh had in common. A sick feeling crept into her stomach. She hated it when people knew more than they should about her, especially when she hadn't decided to tell them herself.

"Well, thank you for your work, Major."

He nodded. "As soon as you're ready, we can go through what we've got here."

Oh, wonderful. She'd booked herself in for another torture session without realising it. Of course, it was procedure; they needed to make sure nothing had escaped them.

"I'll tell you what, Major," said O'Neill suddenly. "Why don't we go get some coffee, let the lady go through her stuff, and then if you like you can check _again_ that everything's okay to go back to the SGC."

"I thought that we weren't to let her out of our sight, Colonel...?"

"When I said 'we', I meant 'you'."

Walsh stared. What was O'Neill doing? Perhaps he wanted to be alone with her to rehash their most recent disagreement. Considering his attitude so far, it was the only thing that made sense.

Davis said nothing, frowning and looking rather confused. He probably didn't like how his neatly organised plans were being rearranged by O'Neill's new orders.

"I'll call you when she's done," said O'Neill. "Enjoy the sunshine."

"Sir," replied Davis with a nod, and he left, clearly irked.

Silence ensued. O'Neill was still standing at the threshold. She stared at him in silence.

"What?"

"I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"What other shoe?" said O'Neill.

He finally entered the flat and closed the door behind him. She watched as he pulled off his jacket – he was wearing a holster under it, as expected – and settled down on a chair by the desk. He could still see her from where he was, but made a big show of producing a yo-yo and fiddling with it.

So, he didn't seem to have any immediate plans to start a row again. Which meant... was he doing this to be nice? To give her privacy. Perhaps he was just biding his time.

Walsh shook her head and sighed, sitting down on the sofa and pulling a cardboard box towards her to explore its contents. At least there would only be one person to watch her as she went through Professor Walsh's most private belongings, and despite his animosity, she would probably still have chosen O'Neill over anyone else.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** contains allusions to suicide.

He stared at the water slowly dripping though the coffee filter. It was taking forever. O'Neill sighed and cleaned out a pair of mugs he'd managed to dig out of a box. Everything here was familiar. He'd probably drunk from one of those cups, and he'd lost count of the number of times he'd seen her bent over the coffee pot that sat on the worktop. Davis hadn't bothered to pack up anything non-perishable in the kitchen, which wasn't a bad thing since O'Neill had found some of that fancy coffee Maggie drank.

Walsh was going through books. At some point she'd opened up something that looked like a photo album. A half-smile twisted her lips and tears glittered in her eyes. That was when he'd muttered something about getting them a drink. It made her too human, made him think too much about the Maggie he'd known, who'd never shown him that side of her. And there he was thinking about her all over again. He thought he'd put Maggie out of his mind, and he was wrong, dead wrong. Everything here made memories flood back.

Electric shocks to the brain. It sounded like a new kind of torture, and it might have worked if someone had been asking questions. But there'd been nobody. Just an empty house, and the corner he'd backed into, shaking. Painkillers didn't help. He'd been pretty sure that he was going completely mad, that somehow the trip through the Stargate had damaged him for good.

But at the time it hadn't really cared. He'd been thinking about ending it all before he'd left for Abydos anyway. Meeting Daniel had been a brief respite and he thought he'd been more or less coping, but the sudden headaches had thrown him back into depression. So he'd got his gun, _that_ damn gun. The only problem was, he couldn't stop shaking. He hadn't even managed to load it properly.

There had been a knock; O'Neill still remembered how it had reverberated right through his skull. The room had looked like it was moving around him, and even now he only dimly recalled having called Maggie about that headache. Why the hell he'd called his shrink rather than a proper doctor was anybody's guess. Her knocking was insistent, until he'd shouted at her to get lost. There had been silence; he'd allowed himself to rest for a moment, face in his hands.

Lucky for him, he'd left the front door unlocked, maybe even ajar. The revolver had made an unbearable noise as she kicked it away from him and it skidded across the floor, metal screeching on flagstones like nails on a blackboard. She'd kicked it away and just stood there, stern, frowning.

The next few days were a blurred whirlwind of sensations and words, shouting, visions of Charlie, fever, sobbing, gunshots, Sara's look of horror and disgust, his stomach heaving, zaps to the brain, the room spinning, needles being stuck under his skin... and from time to time, the sound of her voice by his ear, warm hands on him, a giddy feeling of relaxation that followed a sharp prick, and the smell of coffee...

Coffee, one of Maggie's obsessions. It always had to be just so. And he still knew how to make it just so, as if he'd never stopped. The kitchen was filled with the rich smell of dark roast, and he blamed it for triggering the old memories. He thought he heard Walsh mutter something, in the distance, and did his best to ignore it.

Maggie had hung around a whole week, a week he could hardly remember because of the weird migraines and confusing sedatives. She'd slept on his couch, ordered in food and medication, pretty much set up camp in his house. When he'd started to get better, to be able to keep his food down, he'd seen less of her. She still came in regularly to see how he was doing. Or maybe she was lonely too. Sometimes they'd get food in and watch TV together, snarking at the programs or bickering when they disagreed.

He should have known it was going to happen. It felt like it had been on the verge of happening for years before it actually did. They disagreed about something, and she'd called him a name, and he'd kissed her. That was enough to open a hell of a Pandora's box. He'd always suspected that under the cool front was something passionate and sensual, and boy, he was not disappointed...

O'Neill sighed, mentally scolding himself for thinking about that, about any of it. It had been nice while it lasted: sex, friendship, and a hint of something more. But she was unpredictable. She could be snuggling one minute and briskly setting off the next. It happened more and more as time went by, until she never came back. He really should have known better than to let himself fall for her.

And here he was, bringing her coffee. Well, not _her_ , but close enough. He was such a sucker.

When he got to the living room, he found Walsh engrossed in a book; she didn't even look up. He put the cup down on the crowded table in front of her, and noticed the pages filled with a very familiar handwriting. Maggie's diary. They'd left some of her diaries. Oh crap. Walsh looked up at him, blinking, dazed.

"Coffee's up," he said abruptly, and turned tail to settle down in his chair.

"Colonel," she said softly.

He really didn't want to, but he turned around to look at her. She knew. He could tell she knew, because she was looking at him with this half-surprised, half-upset expression and... of course she knew. Goddammit.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Yes, you made that quite plain ever since I got here."

"Well, I hope you're happy now you have her side of the story."

She sighed and glanced at the pages again. "I'm sorry, Colonel."

Against his better judgement, he sat down next to her, pushing stuff aside so he could fit his cup of coffee onto the table. Walsh seemed surprised at first, but moved over to give him some room.

"Did you find out why she came here?" He'd be damned if he said what he really wanted to ask – if she'd found out why Maggie had left him.

"Not... exactly. There's nothing about Sunnydale here, I suspect they sent all that material to the Pentagon."

"Yeah, not surprised." He wasn't sure if he wanted there to be something about him in those diaries. On the one hand, it would have meant that Maggie still thought about him after she'd left. On the other, O'Neill didn't want someone at NID laughing his ass off about his personal life. And Davis knew. He'd gone through everything and he knew. Ugh.

"I just think she got frightened."

"Huh?"

"She didn't seem to be very good at getting involved with people. It doesn't mean she didn't... well. She certainly mentions you often."

He wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't.

"If you want to see what she wrote..."

"No." God no. He wasn't that masochistic.

Walsh nodded and put the diary away into a cardboard box, then took a sip from her cup of coffee. He saw the way she smiled a little when she tasted it, and mentally berated himself for even looking to see how she'd react. This was... exactly the opposite of what he should be doing.

He missed her. It only really hit him now that he was in this flat, with a Walsh who wasn't quite the right one, surrounded by all the things that Maggie would never wear or use or eat or drink anymore because she was gone. Now he understood what Samantha had felt when she'd realised he really wasn't her Jack. He wondered how she'd been able to bear his presence. Or how Walsh could bear his presence.

O'Neill caught a movement from the corner of his eye and something thumped against the balcony doors. Walsh gave a start, and he shot up, weapon at the ready. Whatever it was, it had moved was out of sight again.

"What was that?" gasped Walsh. She stood up, brushing spilled coffee off her pants.

He gestured for her to fall back and she complied automatically. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he wasn't taking any chances. Slowly, O'Neill got to the balcony doors and nudged them open. He carefully peered out. Nothing. Except...

He should have known. A sandy-coloured cat was sitting on the wall. When it saw the open balcony door, it shot into the room, weaving through his legs. He glared at it while it trotted to Walsh.

"Well, I didn't know I attracted strays." The cat was winding around her, purring like a motor.

"A stray? You can't recognise your own cat?" He wanted to take the words back the moment they left his mouth. She stared at him for a beat, then slowly crouched to look at the pesky feline and scratch its head.

"It's been a long time since I've kept a cat, Colonel," she replied calmly. "Pets don't mix well with a military life."

"Can't argue there," said O'Neill. He grabbed his coffee and went to sit at the desk, eyeing the cat warily.

"Do you know its name?"

"What?"

"The cat," she said, sitting back on the sofa. "Does it have a name?"

"It's called Siggy, it's a she, and it's just as much of a monster from hell as its former owner."

She raised an eyebrow and looked down at the cat. It was pretty thin and its fur looked dusty. O'Neill supposed it wasn't all that young, and he wondered why it had hung around so long. He thought cats had no sense of loyalty.

"Siggy. Short for Sigmund?" She seemed amused.

"I never got that joke."

He'd never got why people liked cats either, and especially this one. He'd always hated the way it stared at him with its big green eyes, mocking him, goading him. One moment it would be purring and begging to be stroked, the next it would stick its claws in his arm. The cliché about pets resembling their owners was only too true when it came to that cat and Maggie.

With the cat walking up and down the couch next to her, Walsh started sorting through boxes of clothes that she'd got from the bedroom. He recognised a few things and grimaced. More memories. He hadn't expected to remember outfits, but apparently his brain liked to store stupid information he didn't want to think about. Walsh glanced at him, frowned a little when she saw his face, and continued what she was doing.

He tuned Walsh out, tuned the purring cat out, tuned everything out and just watched the balcony absently. The cat wasn't helping. He'd never been to this flat, even though he recognised things he could still pretend it was just some random place. He could ignore the clothing and the memories they triggered if he didn't look. But that damn animal _knew_ him, recognised him from years back apparently. And it was staring at him. He wasn't going to let himself be rattled by a fucking cat.

After what seemed like an eternity, Walsh stretched. "Well, I think that's it."

"About time," muttered O'Neill. It was late afternoon. They'd been there for hours and he was famished.

He dialled Major Davis' number on his mobile. Davis seemed pretty sniffy with him, but that was how he got when anyone pulled rank on him. O'Neill told him to get to the flat ASAP.

"Davis is on his way." They were still going to spend a while in the flat, as Davis went through her stuff for the umpteenth time to make sure there wasn't anything dangerous in there. He just wished he could get out and stretch his legs, at least.

"What shall we do with her?" Walsh asked softly. O'Neill's gaze fell on the cat. It had curled up against her thigh, and looked happy as a queen.

"I don't really see a cat living in the SGC," he said

"Me neither. I suppose we'll leave her at the local shelter."

"Unless someone can keep her until they let you live outside the mountain." He had no idea why that had come out. "I mean, if you want her."

She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "What I want is irrelevant, Colonel. I doubt that I'll see the outside of the mountain in a long time after this."

That made him cringe a little. She was practically a prisoner, wasn't she? Sure, her alter ego had a really sketchy record and they couldn't take chances, but it was starting to feel downright wrong to punish Walsh for Maggie's mistakes. But maybe he wasn't being quite rational. Daniel was right, he had to let Hammond decide what to do with her. At least he was impartial.

Before he could say anything to Walsh's comment, he heard Davis unlocking the door and entering.

"Sir," he said, saluting smartly.

"She's done. And we'll need a transport basket for the cat."

Davis eyed it suspiciously. "I didn't know that Professor Walsh had a cat, sir."

"Well, either that, or she was addicted to kitty kibble and just happened to have this walking fleapit living on her balcony."

He noticed Walsh smiling at his comment and couldn't help feeling good about having caused that reaction.

"It would need special clearance to go back on base, sir," said Davis stiffly.

"It's not going anywhere near the base, we'll find it a home in Colorado Springs or something."

Or something. He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew is that he wasn't leaving his ex... his ex- _whatever_ 's cat to fend for itself in a city teeming with vampires, demons and other nasty things. Getting it put down would be more humane.

Davis nodded. "In that case... I have to verify Dr Walsh's belongings, then I'll look into a cat carrier and we'll be on our way."

O'Neill turned to Walsh, who sighed and pushed a box of things she wanted to keep towards Davis. The cat was rubbing its head against her knee. It caught O'Neill's eye and burst into purrs. He wondered what the hell it was purring at.

* * *

Telling Rupert about the Goa'uld had actually been far easier and more fun than Daniel had imagined; his friend really knew his stuff and had been fascinated by what Daniel had to say. It was pretty great to talk to a fellow archaeologist who actually _believed_ him – well, as long as he didn't mention pyramids as landing bases, which he wasn't allowed to do anyhow.

They'd spent a great deal of time looking up the various mythologies relating to Apollo and Gaia. Daniel thought he knew everything he needed to know from classical texts, but then Rupert had pulled out a number of documents that Daniel had never heard about. There were Watchers' diaries in Ancient Greek, as well as what Rupert called demonic sources, texts in languages that Daniel hadn't ever dreamt of seeing and that Rupert translated for him. It was... actually it was so cool that he'd practically forgotten about the urn.

Sam had been looking after the various scans they could perform in the museum. As for Teal'c, he'd listened intently to all the stories, but didn't know of many Goa'uld that corresponded to Greek gods, except for Cronus, of course. Funnily, even though Gaia was Cronus' mother in Greek myth, Teal'c hadn't ever heard of her. Daniel wondered if she'd been exiled or something. After all, in Greek myth she'd sided with her grandson Zeus rather than with Cronus...

"So, let me sum this up again," said Rupert, taking off his glasses and cleaning them during a break between translating excerpts from demon texts. "These Goa'uld beings are a sort of... of parasitic reptilian creature parading as ancient gods. They attach themselves inside a human host, entirely take over them, and they have super-human powers. And you believe that one of these creatures might be dormant in this urn?"

"It could be. We found a pair of canopic jars containing the Goa'uld Isis and Osiris just recently, as a matter of fact." Too recently for him to feel comfortable about it, actually.

"You did?"

Daniel sighed. "You knew Doctor Jordan, didn't you?"

"Oh yes... yes, I believe he passed away lately. Some sort of freak lab accident?"

"Yeah. That was Osiris. The jar was opened and he got out and... took possession of someone."

Rupert was listening attentively. Daniel bit his lip. He hadn't planned on telling Rupert all of this but he couldn't really back out now. It was important.

"You remember Sarah? Dr Gardner?"

"I think so... weren't you two involved at some point?"

"Yeah. Well, now Osiris has Sarah's body. We still haven't been able to find them."

Rupert looked a little bemused and quite concerned. "I... I'm very sorry Daniel. That must have been... difficult."

Daniel gave him a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. The whole thing with Sarah was hard. What was harder still, maybe, was the fact that this wasn't the worst thing that had happened to Daniel over the last few years. But he couldn't tell Rupert about Sha're and Abydos.

"Well I've got the X-ray and the ultrasound results in," said Sam, coming back into the little office they'd appropriated, "but it's just like Mr Giles said – everything is blocked by some very dense material beneath the ceramic casing."

"Short of breaking into the hospital and commandeering their CAT scanner, I doubt we'll get more information," said Rupert.

"I'm leaning towards bringing it back to the base," said Sam.

"I agree," said Teal'c. "According to the Goa'uld portion of the text, this urn may well be the resting place of the Goa'uld Gaia."

"And so the Ancient Greek version would be a... a mis-translation, so to speak, of the-the Goa'uld, where they call her a dragon?" said Rupert.

"That is indeed very probable."

"Perhaps..." Rupert frowned. "I'm just not... well, not entirely sure I can just let you make off with this urn. If it holds something demonic rather than this Goa'uld creature..."

"But how could we figure that out without further tests?" asked Sam.

"As a matter of fact, there are a few ways to determine whether something has a-a magical charge of any kind. That's what demons usually use."

Sam was looking at him with the kind but patronising expression of someone who thought magic was silly. "Well, could it damage the urn?"

"I-I-I... no. I doubt it very much."

"Well, I guess it can't hurt, then," she said with a shrug and a not exactly sincere smile.

That bothered Daniel, but he didn't say anything. Maybe it was time she saw something supernatural with her own eyes. Not that she wouldn't be looking for a scientific explanation for it soon after, but it would be a start.

"All right," said Rupert. "Then I'll collect a few things and see what I can do."

"I'll let Jack know what's going on." Daniel glanced at his watch. They'd been at it for several hours now, it was nearing 6pm. He grabbed his phone and dialled.

"Daniel?" Jack sounded pretty testy.

"Hey, how are things going on your side?"

"Just _fine_ , Daniel."

"Look, uh, we think there's a good chance that this urn is a Goa'uld artefact. Teal'c can read the writing, it's similar to what we found on Pelops."

"Did you manage to see what's inside?"

"No, I think we need a CAT scan for that, and I'm not sure we can get that done in Sunnydale."

"Okay, well pack it up safely and we'll study it back at the SGC."

"Uh, yeah, well my friend wants to try something first. He, er, he'd like to check it for magic."

"Magic."

"Look I told you it could be something demonic or... well, not Goa'uld. And even if it is Goa'uld, what's to say that there's not an element of magic in there too? We have someone who can actually check for things that we don't know how to look for with scientific tools, don't you think that could be an interesting opportunity?"

He could practically hear Jack rolling his eyes. "Fine, Daniel, as long as it's safe. We're stuck here until Davis finishes checking Walsh's stuff anyway. Update me when you're done, yeah?"

"Okay, see you later." He hung up and smiled at Rupert. "So you said you needed some supplies?"


	17. Chapter 17

The sun was starting to set as they quietly walked side by side through Sunnydale. Walsh still wondered if she should be thankful or suspicious of O'Neill's newfound kindness towards her. He'd taken pity on her once more when Davis had started rooting through the stuff she'd set aside and suggested they go find something to eat. Whatever O'Neill's motives, she hadn't argued. There was no way she'd miss the opportunity to walk outdoors for a little while.

Sunnydale was small but relatively attractive; it was hard to believe it was teeming with evil creatures. There were quite a few people on the main street, out shopping or enjoying the summer weather. She and O'Neill had found a small diner and had a strained but relatively civil meal there. God knew he could have left her to suffer with Davis, or just called in for food, especially since he seemed pretty embarrassed by what she'd found out.

Her mind kept going back to that diary. She supposed that Davis hadn't realised what he was reading; if he had, he probably wouldn't have left it for her to see. Her alter ego had been very careful not to name names and to use codes, but it had been pretty easy for Walsh to figure things out from the context and from the way her alter ego described this man who apparently irritated her as much as he attracted her.

Perhaps Walsh shouldn't have been so surprised. If she'd slept with Jack, it wasn't so shocking that her counterpart had done it too, especially without any regs hindering her. Well, the breach of doctor-patient boundaries should have made her think twice, but then again she hadn't paid ethics much attention in her medical experiments either.

At least now some things were starting to make sense. The way O'Neill could go from rude and aggressive to concerned, even kind... Walsh's presence probably stirred up all sorts of feelings in him, and she knew how angry he got when he didn't know how to deal with something. There was nothing she could do about it, though, short of disappearing from his life; that wasn't on the cards just yet.

Walsh's train of thought was abruptly interrupted by O'Neill shoving her into a dark alley. She instinctively tried to snatch away from his grip, but he held tight, determined. After a few moments of confused fumbling and quiet curses, she found herself facing him in the dimly lit alley, with his hands firmly holding her upper arms.

"What the hell are you–"

"Shh!" He was peering towards the main street, frowning.

The panic and anger that had started to boil in her after that rough treatment slowly simmered down as she watched him scan the street. She supposed that he was hiding her from someone, if the way he'd placed himself slightly in front of her to block her from view was any indication.

His hands soon loosened and slid down along her bare arms. Her heart was still thumping; it kept going hard and fast even after the anger had dissolved. This wasn't the time or the place, but she couldn't help but notice the way his fingers felt against her skin. The sensation sent small shivers through her.

Time went by slowly. O'Neill shifted, resting a forearm against the wall to hide her face from passers-by. They were strangely close, and a thrill went through her when he looked down at her. She was hidden behind dark glasses, but his gaze still found hers. He looked away quickly.

"I could swear I saw Finn coming towards us," he whispered. "I think he's still out there somewhere..."

Maggie felt a pang at the mention of his name. Riley, alive and well? Of course, she'd read the reports. He'd deserted, but helped neutralise her alter ego's creation in the end. The poor boy, he'd _become_ one of her creations after she'd fed him chemical cocktails and implanted chips in him.

"... or maybe he went into a shop... are you even listening to me?"

"Sorry." She found herself craning her head to look into the street; she couldn't help but long for a glimpse of him, just to know that he was all right.

"So, I'm guessing you cared for your Finn."

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He didn't want to die... to die there. Well, he didn't say it in so many words, but I could tell." Her voice cracked a little, damn it.

"You'd have stayed, otherwise?"

"I'd have joined Janet and Cassandra, and waited it out. But Riley... it was up to me to keep him safe."

O'Neill looked into the street again, which was just as well, because the treacherous tears had snuck up on her again and her glasses were misting up. She pulled them off and made a show of cleaning them on her T-shirt.

"Hey." O'Neill said it softly into her ear, and her hands went still, glasses all but forgotten. She felt his thumb gently rub the inside of her forearm in a comforting gesture, igniting something... something damn confusing inside of her. She'd been thinking about it for days, ever since that blazing row, and it was even stronger now that she knew what had gone on between him and her alter ego.

She looked up at him once she was fairly sure her eyes were dry. He and offered her a thin, embarrassed smile, before averting his gaze. His fingers still trailed along her arm and she wondered if he realised what that was doing to her.

"They must've gone by now," he said. Instead of releasing her, though, he moved a little closer. She could feel his breath hot against her skin, and their noses practically touched.

"Then what are we still doing here?"

His hand slid down her wrist and her eyes fluttered shut under its warmth. She thrilled when his fingers ran across her free hand, rubbed the inside of her palm. God she wanted him so much...

"I'm not her, Jack," she told him softly, forcing herself to open her eyes and look at him. She had to say this. She didn't want to take advantage of any confusion in his mind.

He was looking right back at her. "I know. And I'm not him."

She nodded. She hardly knew him, but it felt like she did. After all the fighting, the revelations, the frustration, the mixed feelings, somehow they already did have a relationship, complicated as it was. And there was that same attraction. Apparently, he felt it too.

"As long as that's clear." Slowly, his lips brushed against her cheek, then against her mouth.

She leaned into him and kissed him lightly, her whole body suddenly thrumming with need. One of his hands cupped her face, his fingers sliding against her cheek nearly tenderly. It wasn't like anything she'd done with her Jack, and she welcomed this. It was new, exciting, and she longed for more, longed to know this man too.

His lips were still light and tentative, but his body pressed closer. Her hips tilted, her chest arched up to meet his as the kiss deepened. Soon she was lost, consumed by his mouth, by his hand on her face, by the weight of his body pinning her there, by the force of the heat rising in her belly.

A sound made her freeze. It was a snigger coming from the depths of the alleyway. O'Neill spun around, as breathless as she was, and they both peered into the gloom. A man swaggered towards them with a threatening leer. He looked like a punk rocker with his bleached blond hair, combat boots and long leather coat.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" said the man, coming closer and closer. "Lovebirds in their nest, how cosy." He grinned and produced a jack-knife. "All right. We can do this the easy way, where you hand me your cash–"

"Or we can do it the hard way, where you go to jail," said O'Neill, stepping forward.

"I'd think twice about trying to take me on barehanded, mate."

"Who said I was?" O'Neill pulled out his handgun and calmly aimed it at the man. "Want to run that by me again?"

"Ah, see, I'm sure that kind of thing gets the ladies wet," the man leered at her as he said that, "and I would be impressed now... if it wasn't for the fact that I can do this."

There was a blur of movement. Walsh didn't have time to move before the man was standing right next to her, much too close for comfort. O'Neill turned to face him, his eyes going wide when he felt the tip of the man's blade under his chin. A horrified shiver went through Walsh when she caught a glimpse of the man's face. It had become monstrous, deformed, with yellow eyes and glistening fangs. A vampire. That had to be what he was.

"Holy shit," muttered O'Neill.

"I'm ready for you to hand over the dosh, now," said the vampire, grinning at them. "Unless you want me to make a snack out of her." He made a growl that no human could produce and she flinched as his head came dangerously close to her throat. His breath smelled coppery.

"Okay, fine, let's not get overexcited here," said O'Neill.

Something wasn't right though. Something didn't make sense. "You want our money, _or_ you'll drink my blood?"

"That's what I said. Not the sharpest pencil in the box, are you?"

She looked at O'Neill, who raised his eyebrows. She watched him slowly start to process the information.

"Well?" said the vampire impatiently.

"You're giving us a choice, when it would be so much easier to drain us first, and then rob our corpses?" She said it to O'Neill rather than to the vampire.

"Now wait a m–"

She cut him off with a punch to the groin. Most men would have folded over, but he just jerked back, howling. O'Neill, with perfect timing, managed to grab his arm and twist it right behind his back, forcing him to let go of the knife. The vampire writhed and managed to break free, charging O'Neill, fangs first. He abruptly stopped inches away from him and let out a roar of pain, clutching his head. She'd been right, he was chipped.

"Damn you, woman, how the hell did you know?!" he shouted at her, stamping around and kicking a trash can like a child throwing a tantrum, head still in his hands.

"Good call," said O'Neill. "Though I woulda gone for the windpipe."

"And what if they don't breathe?"

"Ah..."

"What the bloody hell?! Are people in this town swapping bleeding ideas about how to torment me? Who put you up to this? The Slayer?!"

"We should go," said O'Neill, and Walsh nodded.

The vampire suddenly let out a shocked cry. "Wait, I know you! You're that Maggie Walsh nutter... but you were dead! What the hell _are_ you, then?"

"Crap," growled O'Neill. He grabbed Walsh by the hand and pulled her towards the main street. She followed, stumbling until she caught up with O'Neill's long stride, trying hard not to fight him off. The vampire was screaming insults behind them. She turned around to see him angrily slam a crate into a wall.

"I'll get you, bitch! You'll pay for all the misery you put me through! You'll be begging for your sodding life when I'm done with you! I'll bloody well get all the..."

O'Neill took a sharp turn, and they were back in the bustle of the main street. The vampire's cries were muffled by the noise of cars and passers-by. Walsh tried to tug herself free, hoping that would remind him that she wasn't a prisoner and he didn't need to grip hand her like that. He didn't even seem to notice. Just as she was opening her mouth to speak, a voice stopped her short.

"Hey! Riley!"

Before she could do a thing, a powerful hand grabbed her free arm, pulling her back, twisting her around. She froze when she saw his face. Riley. Riley was staring into her eyes, clearly shocked, but full of resolve.

"What d'you think you're doing?" snapped O'Neill. "Let the lady go."

"Riley, what are you– wait. Is that who I think it is?" There was another person behind Riley, a young man. And he apparently knew her too.

"It's you," breathed Riley. "But it can't be... you were dead. What... what are you?"

"Finn, will you back off?" O'Neill said sharply. Riley looked up at him, as if he were noticing him for the first time.

"Colonel O'Neill? I... I don't understand, sir."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," replied O'Neill. "And we're in a hurry." He pulled at Walsh's hand, trying to draw her away from Riley.

"Stop that, both of you!" she shouted at them. "I'm not a thing to be grabbed at and you don't drag me around like some sort of pet, is that clear?"

Riley let go first, chastised. O'Neill's dropped her hand, but stayed close, scowling.

"Too bad you never applied that kind of concept to other people," said the young man behind Riley.

He was barely in his twenties, quite tall, with rather unkempt dark hair and garish clothes. She stared at him for a moment, wondering what she could answer to that. She was so tired of this argument. If she hadn't been able to convince O'Neill with months of efforts, there wasn't anything she could say to Riley or to his friend that would change the way they thought.

"I think it's time we left, Colonel," she said quietly. O'Neill nodded, and they turned away from the two young men, making their way down the street. Riley rushed in front of them.

"No, no, that's too easy! I don't care if this is classified, I want an explanation!" He turned to O'Neill. "You know I broke the confidentiality clause for you, you could at least have the decency to do the same for me."

O'Neill rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's not exactly the same thing."

"Professor Walsh?" asked Riley, turning to her. She was surprised to find despair in his tone, as if he were begging for an answer. He looked so lost.

"I'm not your Professor," she told him quietly. "I wish I could tell you more, but I'm afraid it's all classified."

Riley backed off slightly, but his eyes were still pleading, going from her to O'Neill.

"Ah, fine, our cover's blown anyway," said O'Neill at last. He turned to Walsh. "You okay with this?"

Okay with talking to an alternate version of Riley that her alter ego had harmed, practically killed? She nearly shook her head. But it was Riley and he wanted to know, he deserved an explanation.

"Sure," she said softly.

"C'mon, the two of you. Back to the flat before I change my mind."

* * *

Carter had no idea what to expect. After filling out quite a bit of paperwork they'd managed to requisition the artefact from the museum – the piece was pretty rare and the curators weren't keen on letting it go without a fight. Now they were in Mr Giles' apartment in a residential area of town, after picking up herbs and some so-called magical incense in a magic store. Apparently you knew it was real magic because they spelled it with a "k" at the end.

It was difficult for Carter not to mock. It just... it was silly. She agreed that the existence of "subterrestrials" on earth was possible. There were a lot of variations in nature, mutations happened, after all. The fact that these creatures were supposed to be very old was fine too, maybe they represented various branches of evolution. But magic? She didn't see how it had its place in their world. Even when they'd met magic off-world, it always seemed to be explainable either by technology or because the people who practised it had developed some sort of psychic powers.

She didn't want to be rude, though. Obviously this man believed in it, and apart from that eccentricity it looked like he knew a lot about all the archaeological stuff that Daniel specialised in. Besides, he was Daniel's friend.

Teal'c was fascinated by the idea. He liked supernatural stories and seeing something he'd read in _Weekly World News_ about to come true must be exciting for him, although Carter doubted very much that they'd actually see anything. If they did, well... okay, then it would definitely be interesting from a scientific point of view.

Giles was crushing herbs in a pestle. The incense was burning, its smell acrid and pretty unpleasant. He'd placed the urn on the floor in the middle of a pentagram he'd asked Daniel to copy from some old book with a peeling leather cover.

"All right," said Giles. "I think everything... everything is ready, yes."

"Okay," said Daniel. "Er, good luck?" He gestured towards Sam and Teal'c, inviting them to settle down on a couch further away so they wouldn't disturb Giles.

"Thank you."

Everyone was quiet as Giles knelt close to the circle and placed pinches of the herbs in certain parts of the pentagram. Then he sat back and started reading an incantation from a book. It sounded like Latin. His long face was very concentrated, and his voice sounded deep and confident, not at all stuttering and nervous like he'd been before. There was even a hypnotic quality to the chant he recited over and over...

The chalk circle on the floor glowed gold. Carter nearly jumped out of her seat. Was she imagining this? She glanced at Teal'c and Daniel, who both seemed stunned too. The glow was reflecting on their faces from the circle. Then the light grew, shooting out of the ground and forming a dome over the urn while Giles continued reciting the spell.

The phone rang, making them all jump. Giles frowned but continued muttering words that seemed to guide the dome downwards. The ringing was shrill and unpleasant. Soon the neck of the urn appeared through the top of the light, and it continued its descent along the urn, like... well, like a scanner.

The phone was still ringing; Carter wondered how Giles could keep concentrated through the incessant trilling. The dome stopped its descent about halfway down the urn. Giles cursed softly, though everything he said always somehow sounded polite because of his British accent. He got up from the edge of the circle and picked up.

"What?" he snapped. Then he went quiet. "Xander, slow down. ... No, I don't know where Buffy is." He sighed deeply and took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't she have one of those pager things?"

Carter didn't know what all that was about, but she wondered if it was safe for what looked like a bunch of energy to just be sitting there, unattended.

"What kind of trouble did you say Riley's in? ... What? He WHAT? ... Right. Excuse me a moment, will you?"

He turned towards Daniel, frowning deeply and putting his glasses back on. He looked like a stern schoolteacher all of a sudden. "Daniel, what do you know about some Colonel... O'Neill, was it?" he asked into the phone, "some Colonel O'Neill accompanying a woman who looks suspiciously like Professor Walsh?"

Oh crap. Colonel O'Neill had been seen with Walsh? How had he let that happen? She glanced at Daniel, unsure about what to do next.

"Er..." said Daniel.

"Riley, one of our friends, is with them right now," Giles continued. "Is he in danger?"

"No, sir, he's not," said Carter immediately. "Look, we're not at liberty to discuss this, but Colonel O'Neill is a respectable officer of the Air Force."

"I told you about him, Rupert," said Daniel. "He'll keep Riley safe, you have nothing to worry about, I promise."

"What about her?" said Giles, his voice growing very low. Carter hadn't often heard the word "her" sound so much like an insult.

"Yeah, uh... well..." started Daniel.

"That's classified, I'm afraid," said Carter.

"She's from an alternate reality," said Daniel, practically at the same time as her.

"Daniel!"

"I'm sorry Sam, but it's better that they know or things could get ugly." Daniel turned back to Giles. "She's not the Professor Walsh you knew. I mean I don't know exactly how different they are, but this one was never part of the Initiative project."

Giles looked irritated, but after a moment's hesitation he pressed the phone to his ear again. "Xander, he's probably safe. I know someone who works with this Colonel O'Neill, he seems to be trustworthy. And apparently that Walsh woman is from an alternate reality. ... No, I wouldn't call Buffy, she might do something rash and get herself into more trouble than that woman's worth. Look, I-I have a spell to complete and then I'll join you, all right?"

He finally hung up and looked at them all with a scowl. "You really might have told me, Daniel."

Daniel made a face. "The regulations are very strict, Rupert. I'm sorry."

"All right, let's finish this." Mr Giles had turned rather frosty, but he settled down in front of the circle again. The dome of light over it had become dimmer, Carter could see the urn through it now. When Giles started to chant again the wall of energy became brighter and denser again.

Carter watched him finish, wondering how much more they could mess up a pretty simple mission.


	18. Chapter 18

They'd followed the Colonel back to Maggie's flat. Riley had been there a couple times, a rare privilege. She'd carefully hidden anything personal from the other recruits, always met people in her office at the university or in the Initiative headquarters. But sometimes... well, he'd often thought she liked him a little better than she did the others.

Yeah, she liked him so much that she'd tried to kill Buffy. So much that she'd put a chip in his chest to control him. And likened him to that _thing_ , Adam. Thinking about it made Riley's stomach churn with disgust and rage.

And now she... well it wasn't her, was it? It couldn't be, because the last time he'd seen Maggie, she'd been decomposing. A rotting corpse attached to machines animating her. A mockery of her former self. And even when Maggie had been alive, she'd looked different. This one's dark hair – was that natural or a dye job? – underlined her gaunt features. She was thinner than Maggie, but she'd still felt strong when he'd grabbed her in the street. Something about made Riley feel like this one spent more time in the field than in the lab.

They were standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. Colonel O'Neill had settled down further away and was pretending not to watch them. The guy Riley had seen snooping around this flat – some Major, apparently – had gone outside. O'Neill had asked him to make sure nobody disturbed them. Riley knew Xander had followed him even though he'd told him not to. If he got Buffy to come, they might not have much time. Nobody would keep her from coming up to find him.

He took a deep breath.

"So, who are you, if you're not... if you're not Professor Walsh?"

"I'm Dr Margaret Walsh, formerly Lieutenant Colonel Walsh of the US Air Force. I'm from another dimension."

"Another dimension," he repeated stupidly. He'd heard it was possible, he'd even been in one. But he'd never imagined that there was a way for people to cross over without using magic.

"There's an infinite number of dimensions," she explained calmly. "Every time someone makes a choice, a new dimension is created–"

"I know that. How?"

"We found a device that allows people to dimension-travel. Our... our world was being destroyed and... well, a few of us came here."

Riley took a moment to let the information sink in. It was baffling. And, well, kind of cool. "So you're part of the military?"

"I am. I'd been working with Colonel O'Neill for years."

"What kind of work did you do?"

"Well... in recent years I'd been doing classified work in the field."

"As a medic?"

She shook her head. "What I did involved quite a bit of combat."

"You?" Riley couldn't refrain from laughing. Professor Walsh didn't have particularly sharp tactical knowledge and she wasn't really good in action. That hadn't been part of her job description.

And this one smiled when he laughed at her. She must have been very different from the Maggie he knew, because Maggie would have definitely torn him a new one if he'd mocked her.

"I understand that in this dimension, I concentrated on studies rather than action." She shrugged. "In many ways I'm different from Professor Walsh, and in many ways I'm similar to her. Originally we're probably the same person, we just... each went our own way."

"So, uh, did you know me? I mean... you know what I mean."

She nodded, not quite meeting his eye. "I had a Lieutenant Finn in my team. I'd recruited him out of the Academy."

"So... you were still his mentor?" It was really weird how some things seemed to be the same, despite the really different setting.

"I... well, until recently I was his CO." She rubbed her face. The gesture reminded him of what Maggie had done, how she'd looked, when she'd told him Buffy was dead. His jaw clenched. But why would this woman lie to him? She didn't really know him.

"So, uh... what happened to him? Is he here too?"

"No. We... when we arrived in this dimension, we were attacked. He didn't make it." She still wasn't making eye contact.

"Huh. So you let him die."

She looked up at him; there was shock and hurt in her eyes. Good. That felt pretty good, to see her hurting for once. And it also felt pretty horrible that he was enjoying someone else's pain.

"I suppose I did," she said softly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Bullshit," said Colonel O'Neill from the other end of the room. They both turned to him, surprised by his sudden comment. He looked up at them moodily. "My CO made the decision to leave him behind to protect our men, she didn't have a say in it. And he wouldn't have survived here more than a few days, anyway."

Riley raised his eyebrows at him, then looked back at Maggie, who shrugged.

"Why did you try to bring him here, if he didn't have long to live?"

"He might have had longer, like me," she said. "You see, when someone comes from another dimension... well... this is quantum physics and it's not my field, but..."

"Basically, if there's two of you in one place, the one from the other dimension dies," said O'Neill flatly.

"And since Maggie Walsh is dead, I was able to stay. At least for a while longer, we're not exactly sure if this is permanent."

This was... so weird. Fascinating, on some level, but Riley's mind still boggled at the fact that this was not really Maggie, that she'd tried to bring another Riley here, and that Colonel O'Neill seemed to be... well, backing her up.

He'd known Colonel O'Neill and Maggie from his early training days. She'd encouraged him in his studies while O'Neill had been one of his military instructors. They had both been major pains in the ass and they hated each other. Or at least that's how they acted when they were at work. Riley knew that Maggie had taken care of O'Neill once when he was sick; Riley had been her errand boy, going to and fro between the base and O'Neill's home to bring her prescriptions and supplies. For someone who hated him, she took really good care of him.

Then Maggie had launched the Initiative; Riley had moved to Sunnydale and lost touch with the more official part of the military. But a few months back he'd spotted Colonel O'Neill hanging around Maggie's grave. O'Neill had insisted and threatened and glared until Riley explained what had happened to her. The confidentiality clause was what was keeping him out of prison, technically, but he'd trusted the Colonel to keep what he learned to himself. Riley still remembered O'Neill's furious and horrified expression when he'd found out about Adam. Perhaps O'Neill had expected better from Maggie, just like he had.

"So... do you have any more questions?" she asked.

Did he have any more questions? Now that was funny. Of course he had questions, questions that sometimes kept him from sleeping at night, questions that popped up in his head when he least expected them, questions that were still going to bug him for a long time.

"Not any you can answer."

"I can try."

"You can try?" Riley laughed, and it wasn't a nice laugh. That sick twisting feeling churned his stomach once more, and it just got worse when he looked at her face. "Okay, great! Try explaining why she acted like she cared about her recruits when she was using them as guinea pigs for her experimental drugs."

She opened her mouth, but he didn't give her time to speak. "Or why she tried to get my girlfriend killed just to protect her precious project? Why she thought it was such a great idea to take bits of demons and computer parts and... and... corpses, and put them together into this unstoppable killing machine."

Of course she couldn't answer, she just stood there stoically, barely showing any emotion. That just made him even more angry He stepped forward, a little too close, but he didn't care.

"No? You don't know? How about why she put a chip in my chest so she could control me?" She cringed slightly, and he pressed on. "Or maybe, maybe you can tell me this, Maggie. Why did she make that... that _thing_ call her Mommy!"

Her mouth dropped open; she looked like she'd been slapped.

"That's enough, Finn," said O'Neill from the other end of the room, his chair screeching on the floor as he stood up.

"I'll tell him when it's enough, Colonel, thank you," she said sharply.

O'Neill raised his eyebrows at her, then shrugged with a kind of "whatever" hand-wave and sat back in his seat.

Riley had got worked up enough that he was actually breathing hard. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped away from her, suddenly realising what he'd done. Shame was rising quickly, replacing the anger. This wasn't her, he couldn't punish someone else for what Maggie had done. The shocked look on her face was gone, but he could still see it in his mind's eye. It didn't make him feel proud.

"Some of these things are new to me," she said slowly, after a long silence. "I only got a brief summary of Professor Walsh's activities."

It made sense. Maybe the military didn't want to give her ideas.

"Did the creature really call her...?"

"Yeah." Riley had to repress a shudder just thinking about it. "It was programmed that way. It told me we were brothers... that's what he found in her logs."

She frowned and nodded, her face thoughtful. Riley noticed that O'Neill was watching her, his curiosity obviously piqued. The "mommy" thing wasn't a detail he'd mentioned to O'Neill; it was too grotesque, too humiliating for all involved.

"I thought she was trying to fulfil an assignment," she said at last. "We know the organisation that employed her tends to have some pretty dangerous ideas, it wouldn't be surprising if they'd told her to start altering humans with the end game being some kind of hybrid perfect soldier."

"Well... there was that too," said Riley. "I mean there were other scientists working there with her, who knew about it all."

"All right. So there was an assignment, and I thought she'd taken it on because of the thrill, the power, the idea that nobody else had done what she was about to do... I'm sure there was an element of that too."

Riley stared. It was so surrealistic to listen to this woman speculate about Maggie, analyse her, when she looked identical. Like a twin. Yes, that helped Riley. Identical twins were similar enough, but they were different people. They had a good chance of understanding each other, but they didn't necessarily do the same things, like the same things, make the same choices...

"I'd never thought of it as creating life..." She laughed, a hollow laugh. "It's so crude, it's nearly insulting."

"So... what, she wanted..." Riley couldn't say it. The thought creeped him out too much.

"Children, yes. The closest thing she could find to giving birth."

And then Riley wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. He'd studied _Frankenstein_. Wasn't that exactly why Mary Shelley had written it, because she'd lost a baby and had this fantasy of it coming alive again?

"It seems horrifying to you, I suppose," she said softly.

He didn't need to answer that, she could tell from his face. O'Neill on the other hand was studiously looking at his hands and ignoring them. Riley sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I... don't really get it."

"You wanted answers. Would it help if I told you something about... well, about myself. She and I probably have that in common."

He had no idea what to say to that. Now that she was offering some kind of answer, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Which was dumb, because he might never have this opportunity again.

"Okay," he said, against his better judgement.

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "When I was about your age, I found out that I couldn't carry a pregnancy to term. It was... a difficult time of my life."

Riley just stared. If she couldn't carry it to term, it meant she'd tried. She'd been pregnant, and miscarried. At one point, Maggie Walsh had tried to have children. That was a whole load of TMI that he hadn't expected to ever hear. But it made sense. It brought him back to the Mary Shelley idea.

"But you never... did you ever do something like she did?"

"No. I gave up, I joined the US Air Force and directed my energies elsewhere, and my interests ended up being different. It's not something you get over easily, and I can't say it hasn't bugged me occasionally over the years, but..."

"It's not an obsession for you like it was for her."

She nodded. "I can't tell you if it was because she grieved over not being able to have children or because she was too proud to accept any kind of failure, so to speak. Maybe both."

"I felt like she cared..." said Riley quietly, not making eye contact. And it was true. There had been brief moments. Shared jokes, encouragements, even thinly-veiled attempts at comforting him. Why else would she have done that?

"I think she must have cared, in her own way."

Riley let out a long sigh and let himself drop down onto the sofa. He was back to being sad. He'd been angry and horrified but now it just hurt again, because Maggie was human after all. Neurotic and obsessive and maybe pushed to the point of psychosis, but still a person, not a monster. Maybe he could have helped, if he'd noticed. Maybe if he'd stayed and confronted her when he found out what she'd tried to do to Buffy...

"Excuse me for a moment," he heard her say, and she hurried off to the bathroom.

Riley rubbed his face; he wasn't about to cry in front of Colonel O'Neill. He glanced at him, and found he was still sitting there, staring at some imaginary spot on the floor, as if he hadn't heard all that messy conversation.

There was a long, painful silence. It was only interrupted by the sound of running water when a tap came on in the bathroom.

"So, uh... do you think she's telling the truth?" asked Riley after a while. His voice was a bit hoarse; he cleared his throat.

O'Neill shrugged and sort of pouted. "Dunno. Can't tell." He still didn't look at Riley.

"She's so different... well, and similar at the same time."

The Colonel sighed and got out of his seat, pacing around irritably. "You gonna keep quiet about this, Finn?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your friend hanging around outside?"

Riley joined O'Neill, who was looking out of the window. Xander was sitting on a low wall near the building. He spotted Riley and waved, looking relieved. Riley gave him a tight little smile.

"We're used to keeping that kind of weird stuff to ourselves."

"And that super strong girlfriend of yours that Maggie tried to get killed?"

"I'll have to tell her... eventually. Maybe not tonight."

"We'll be out of here by tomorrow morning."

"What is she going to do now? This one?"

"She'll work with us." O'Neill glanced at him. "Don't worry, no chance of her making a monster under our watch."

"Is she a prisoner?"

"Let's say we won't be letting her out of our sight."

Riley wasn't sure if he was sad or relieved. "But she's different, right? I mean, you can tell."

"Can you? This one was in black ops. If you thought Maggie was a good actress..."

"But she _is_ different," Riley said again. "Like you said, she was in black ops, not in a lab. She worked in the field with... another you, I guess? I mean, that in itself is... different."

O'Neill looked at him pointedly, and Riley didn't really dare to expand on that. He couldn't imagine Maggie working under Colonel O'Neill's command. He'd never seen her work under anyone else, for that matter. And maybe that's why there hadn't been anyone to stop her, or to notice things weren't quite right with her.

The water abruptly stopped running. It had been on for a long time, and they all knew it meant she'd been crying, or something like that. After another few minutes for her to emerge. Sure enough, her eyes were a little swollen, but the calm façade was back in place again.

Riley still felt of ashamed that he'd managed to do that to her. She hadn't _needed_ to tell him... she must have liked the Riley from her dimension quite a lot to open up to him like this. She didn't really owe him anything, after all, but she'd still answered his questions and tried to make things somewhat better. It was still pretty surrealistic and he couldn't quite wrap his head around it all... but he felt like there had been some kind of closure now.

"We done here?" asked O'Neill.

She looked at Riley, and he nodded. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You take care, Riley." It was an order, given out in a level voice, but there was a familiar warm-heartedness to it. It hurt and did him good at the same time.

Before he could say anything else, O'Neill had opened the flat's door and they were heading out down the stairs. Giles had joined Xander outside; they were talking animatedly under the slightly nervous gaze of the officer who was standing guard. Behind them, a group of three people was standing around awkwardly in the dimly lit street.

"What are you all doing here?" asked O'Neill in a less-than-pleased tone.

"We, er... well first of all, this is my friend Rupert Giles. Rupert, this is Jack O'Neill," said a man with glasses. When O'Neill made no response other than a curt nod, Giles turned his attention to Riley.

"Are you all right, Riley?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I told Xander it would be okay."

"Yeah well, you never have too much backup," said Xander, who seemed pretty uneasy.

"All right," said O'Neill. "Well we'd love to stay and chat but we've got to get going. Davis?"

"Transport has been arranged for tomorrow at 0400 hours," said the Major.

"Okay, let's get to that motel, and you guys can tell me all about your adventures."

There was an awkward goodbye scene that Riley didn't fully understand, where O'Neill's colleagues said goodbye to Giles, who was pretty frosty towards them. He could guess it was because of Maggie. Try as he might to be civil, Giles really couldn't stand her, though Riley still wasn't quite sure why. At least Xander assured him they hadn't called Buffy yet.

O'Neill, Walsh and the rest of their team soon climbed into a car and drove off into the night. Riley watched them go. If it hadn't been for Giles' and Xander's presence, and the feeling that a gaping wound in his chest had been stirred open again, he could have believed it was all a really strange dream.


	19. Chapter 19

Walsh just stood in the middle of a rather shabby motel room, motionless, with Davis watching her. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go. The day had been brutal. Her head pounded with all the information, all the events, all the tension.

O'Neill and the others were in another room, discussing what they'd discovered. Davis was just keeping an eye on her until Carter returned, then they'd be sharing accommodations. Walsh couldn't think of a single thing she could say to Davis, so she finally excused herself and went into the bathroom.

It was better than she'd expected. There were a few mouldy spots, but the shower stall was quite big and the room well-lit. She slowly removed her clothes, ignoring her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't going to show her anything she liked, especially not after everything she'd found out about the other one, the person she could have been.

The steady steaming flow of the shower was soothing. She washed the dark mousse out of her hair, shampooing over and over until the water ran clear. It wasn't going to do her hair any favours, but it felt good. In fact she elected to let herself slide down to the floor and just sit under the stream for a while, until her muscles unknotted and the daze lifted.

Those journals, the other Walsh and O'Neill... O'Neill's behaviour, that kiss... she could barely process why it had happened and how she felt about it, because right after that there had been the chipped vampire, and then Riley... the last few hours were all a writhing mass of emotions and ideas that she could barely comprehend.

Thinking about Riley hurt terribly. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe she'd been so busy grieving for Jack and Carter and Daniel, and then so sick after her arrival in this world, that she'd just put Riley's death to one side. It had hit her with full force that evening, brought her to her knees sobbing, choking on emotions that she should have dealt with months ago.

It didn't help that she could see that same trust and reliance on her that she'd seen in her own recruit. Perhaps the other Maggie had been more honest with herself when she'd likened Riley to a son, perhaps there had been a parental element to their relationship after all. On the other hand, the way the other Maggie had expressed that sentiment towards Riley and towards her creation was chilling.

She didn't want to think about that right now. Eyes screwed closed, she tried to clear her mind. Carter would be joining her and she couldn't afford to look a mess.

Her mind wandered back to more pleasant thoughts. That kiss. It had been... well, stupid, of course, a terribly bad idea. And incredibly satisfying, too – just thinking of it sent a thrill through her. She was thankful for that surge of desire, out of place as it was; the antidepressant had killed all those urges, and she'd been wondering if they would ever return. At least she was reassured on that front.

She did have to wonder about O'Neill's motivations though. He'd obviously taken pity on her that day – the meal, the cat, even the kiss had taken place when she was upset. Perhaps it was some sort of atonement for being an ass, or some way of working through feelings for Maggie.

Not that the desire that had surged between them hadn't felt incredibly genuine. If that vampire hadn't interrupted them...

A sharp rap at the door made her start.

"You okay in there ma'am?" asked Major Davis.

"I'm fine, Major," she called back, and turned off the tap.

"Major Carter's just come in, I'll be leaving you now."

"All right. Good night, Major."

And there was silence. Another awkward phase of this strange day had begun.

* * *

O'Neill couldn't stay still. He'd made an excuse about getting something from a vending machine to be able to pace where Daniel and Teal'c wouldn't be staring at him like he was some whackjob and there he was, roaming around the motel after sundown. He knew it wasn't safe to be hanging around outdoors in Sunnydale, but he some part of him was also raring for some kind of action, any kind of action.

He'd actually walked up to Walsh and Carter's room, stopped himself before he knocked, and hurried away. What the hell could he have said? That he wanted a word alone with Walsh? And then what? What did he think would happen?

Considering that kiss, a lot of things could happen. Okay, not with Carter around. But god, no wonder he was wired. Between that kiss and the adrenaline rush from the brush with a vampire – and with neither of these situations really coming to a satisfying conclusion – he was just buzzing with excess energy.

On top of that, he was incredibly annoyed: he'd sucked at being inconspicuous, and he'd been incredibly unprofessional. Davis was sure as hell going to mention it in his report, and it wasn't going to make him look good at all. He hadn't really been thinking at all, had he? He'd been fazed by all the memories, by Walsh finding out about his relationship with Maggie, by... by her looking all vulnerable. Jeez.

Maybe it was good that all these things bugged him, though, because as soon as he calmed down he knew that he'd be forced to think about the other stuff. He hadn't been ready to hear Finn pour his heart out like that, or for Walsh's revelations, or to see her psychoanalyse Maggie. Maybe she was wrong about Maggie, but god it all rang true. That thing about kids... no. O'Neill didn't want to think about that just yet. It was much better to stay irritable.

And of course he knew that Daniel would grill him when he returned to his room, and Teal'c would pretend not to listen but would take it all in and probably figure out things that O'Neill hadn't even figured out himself yet. And look smug. Teal'c was really good at that. Still, he finally walked back into the small room, heaving a long sigh before he entered.

"Found what you were looking for?" asked Daniel from the bathroom.

"Huh?"

"Weren't you going out for a snack?"

"Oh, yeah."

O'Neill sat on his bed. There were only two beds and an armchair in the room, but they only had a few hours before they left anyway and Teal'c didn't really need to sleep so much as to meditate, so that worked out okay. For now, though, Teal'c was enjoying Daniel's vibrating bed.

"So, uh," said Daniel, sitting down on the armchair. He looked uncannily like a shrink. "how was your day?"

And here came the grilling. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Well, we got to see Rupert do a spell, that's pretty hard to beat," said Daniel.

"It was most fascinating, O'Neill."

O'Neill looked between them. "Yeah, you already said."

"Seriously, he made this glowing dome of light go down the canopic jar like a... scanner, I guess. To check if there was magic inside."

"But there wasn't." They'd been over this before.

"No."

"So basically it was a waste of time," said O'Neill. He wasn't really comfortable with this spell stuff. He could tell Carter wasn't either, and he was pretty damn sure Hammond would think they were crazy when he read the report.

"I wouldn't call it waste of time, I mean just the fact of seeing magic is–"

"And by the way, wasn't that also where you told your friend that Walsh was here, and that she came from another dimension?" O'Neill cut in before Daniel started geeking out about magic again.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, Jack? Riley and that other kid had seen her anyhow."

"You should have said it was classified."

"Yeah well I'm pretty damn sure that if I hadn't given Rupert a satisfactory answer, he would have sent the Slayer and then you'd have really been in trouble."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "If you say so, Daniel."

"Besides, you let Maggie talk to Riley, I don't see how that's not a violation of the confidentiality clause either!"

"Finn had already shared classified information with me in the past. I know I can trust him!"

"Well I know I can trust Rupert."

"Whatever, Daniel." The questions were really starting to piss O'Neill off.

"So, how did you get seen in the first place?" asked Daniel, who never knew when to quit.

"Finn saw us."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing out there, I mean."

"We got hungry and went to eat something."

"Ever heard of take out?"

"I don't have to justify myself to you," snapped O'Neill. "And if you want to know, I _was_ being cautious, the only reason we bumped into Finn is because a damn vampire tried to mug us and we were trying to get away from it."

"You encountered a vampire, O'Neill?" asked Teal'c. He'd sat up, and there wasn't much that could tear Teal'c away from lying on a vibrating bed, so he must have been impressed.

"Yeah, well, kinda. He threatened us at knife-point and Walsh figured out he was chipped and punched him in the nads. Then I got the knife off him. They're damn fast though."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow.

"A vampire tried to mug you and she punched him in the..." Daniel started laughing softly.

"I believe you were very lucky, O'Neill."

"Yeah, if he hadn't been chipped it could have got a bit bloody."

"And perhaps if you had persisted in antagonising Dr Walsh, your fate may have been similar to that of the vampire's."

Daniel burst out laughing, his laughter getting even louder when O'Neill scowled at Teal'c.

"Thanks for that, buddy."

"You are most welcome O'Neill," said Teal'c with a majestic nod. Ass. Asses, both of them.

"So, okay, let me get this straight," said Daniel, who'd taken off his glasses to wipe them. "You encountered a vampire and Maggie saved you?" He just about managed to say it with a straight face.

"Don't be stupid, he had a chip in his head. He couldn't have hurt us if he'd tried. All she did was distract him so I could get rid of the knife."

It was the truth, lame as it probably sounded to Daniel. She'd made damn sure he was following her cues before she tried anything, and once the vampire was hit she'd got out of their way. It had been... easy, really. Like a choreography they'd rehearsed a million times. As if they'd always worked together, except that they hadn't. That was just plain weird, and kind of exciting at the same time.

"And so you ran into Riley after that?"

"Yeah. He recognised us, and... he needed some answers."

"Could Maggie provide them?"

O'Neill made a little face. "I guess. I suppose just the fact of letting him talk to her made him feel a bit better, you know."

Better, ha. He wasn't sure any of them had felt better after that little talk, but... well, it would probably help in the long run. Finn definitely looked like he'd needed to get some things off his chest.

"What did she–"

O'Neill got up abruptly. "You know what, I'm gonna grab a shower. It's been a long day."

And with that he headed to the bathroom before Daniel could protest. He was getting really tired of the prying and he still didn't want to think about all of the stuff that had happened in those short few hours in Sunnydale, let alone talk about them.

* * *

Carter lay in bed, staring at Dr Walsh's back. The motel room was dark, but light filtered inside through the flimsy curtains, just enough for Carter to make out shapes in the gloom. They'd turned in for a few hours, before their early start the next morning, though Carter doubted she'd be able to sleep after that day. From the tension that seemed to fill Walsh's shoulders, and the sporadic, nervous twitching of her arms, Carter suspected that she wasn't asleep either.

"Doctor Walsh?" she called softly.

"Major?" replied Walsh, without turning around.

"I was just checking whether you were asleep," said Carter, aware of how silly that sounded.

Walsh turned around to face her and raised an eyebrow. She didn't look angry, but the way she watched Carter intently, as if she were expecting something, made her feel a little ill at ease.

"I'm sorry," said Carter, "I'm just... wired, I guess. The day was pretty eventful."

Walsh nodded. "Yeah, for me too."

"Did you ever see magic?" Walsh raised an eyebrow. "Not... you know, not a bunny in a hat kind of magic. We saw a guy perform a spell today... some kind of analysis spell with a ritual and a full light show that I couldn't really explain."

"Well... the Nox had healing rituals with a light show. Did you meet them?"

"Yeah, I was kinda thinking of that," said Carter, glad that she had someone to talk to about this. "But they kept on saying appearances were deceiving. They seemed like they were... well, kinda primitive, but they had this whole city in the sky. I think their powers were derived from some sort of technology."

"Or perhaps their technology was derived from magical powers," said Walsh with a smile.

Carter didn't really like that idea, but filed it away nonetheless in her mind. "And there was that thing with Oma Desala..."

"Ah, yes... Daniel claimed she was a being that had got to a higher level of consciousness."

"Right. But basically everything we've encountered so far was due to something we can explain. The Goa'uld's power is derived from naquadah. And Oma had become... I'm not quite sure what, but she wasn't human."

"So it's the fact that it's a human, on our planet and not in some alien environment, that makes it more... challenging for you?"

Carter shrugged. You didn't need to be a shrink to figure that out. "I just wish I'd had some instruments with me to measure what was going on there. Actually I kinda wonder if it was real or if his chanting put us in some kind of trance and we all hallucinated."

"That's certainly one of the theories scientists use to explain paranormal phenomena."

"Ugh." Carter rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Well I guess I'll have to come back here and find out. Or maybe get Daniel's friend to pay us a visit."

"The latter sounds safer. This isn't exactly a nice town."

"How do you mean?"

"Didn't Colonel O'Neill tell you? We encountered a vampire. The sun wasn't even properly set, either."

Carter propped herself up on an elbow and stared at Walsh. The words "no shit" were forming in her mouth, but thankfully what came out was: "He didn't."

Walsh shrugged. "Well, the vampire had a chip in his head, we weren't in any actual danger."

"Yes, but... a vampire," was all Carter managed to say. Also, how incredible was it that Walsh had encountered a vampire that her alter ego had chipped? It was like indirectly saving her own life.

"Makes you wonder if vampires are some kind of genetic mutation or if there's something magical about them too, doesn't it?" said Walsh thoughtfully. "I mean, if the holy water and crosses really do work on them, there has to be some kind of supernatural or spiritual element in there. Well, unless it's psychosomatic."

"I guess." Carter fell silent, frowning. The supernatural wasn't troubling her as much now as the Colonel's behaviour. He could be sneaky, but he'd withheld some pretty important information. "So, uh... why did you and Colonel O'Neill go... where you'd encounter a vampire?"

Walsh gave a little huff. "Well... Major Davis was going to go through some of my really personal stuff and I think the Colonel took pity on me."

That sounded like something the Colonel would do... though not for someone he really disliked. If this had been Maybourne, Carter suspected that he would have not only stayed, but probably done a whole sarcastic commentary. And she wasn't entirely sure he'd bother being a gentleman to a woman he didn't like. Something had changed between him and Walsh.

"I don't... exactly understand the relationship between you and Colonel O'Neill," said Carter before she could stop herself. Maybe she was made bolder because the lights were off and Walsh could barely see her in the dim light.

"Don't worry Major, neither do I."

Carter went quiet. She didn't want to pry. Well, she did, but it wasn't her place and being curious about the Colonel would probably reveal a little too much about herself. But what she'd overheard still bugged her. Why would Colonel O'Neill, any Colonel O'Neill, break the regs with a member of his team? And, a nasty little voice in Carter's mind kept on asking, why would he break the regs with someone that wasn't _her_. Why was Walsh special? And why was she triggering such weird, practically irrational behaviours in their Colonel O'Neill?

"Was your relationship with him more, uh, straightforward, in your dimension?"

Walsh sighed a little. "We'd known each other since the eighties, we came to be good friends and the more we worked together, the more we trusted each other in the field... the way your O'Neill probably trusts you and Daniel and Teal'c. That was pretty straightforward."

"But, uh, the rest wasn't?"

"The rest wasn't something we discussed or dwelt on. It was something that happened. It was also something that we had to deal with pragmatically, so that we didn't upset anyone in the team, or compromise the chain of command."

That sounded pretty defensive. Carter couldn't help but smile incredulously; Walsh pulled a little face when she saw it, and drew up the sheets around her.

"No, Major, it wasn't straightforward," she said quietly. "We came close to... well. We had a thing together after he retired, but before it had time to get serious we were put in SG-1 and for several years I was just his second in command."

That did answer some of Carter's questions actually. It wasn't really professional to have accepted to work together under those conditions, but she wasn't really surprised that anyone would have set aside personal feelings in order to go explore the universe through the Stargate. She would have done the exact the same thing.

"But, uh... at some point you... well, his tags were at your place, that must have been fairly recent..."

"When General Hammond died, everything became chaotic and..." Walsh shrugged. "We figured that as long as it didn't mess with the chain of command..."

"Did it work?"

"It never caused problems professionally, if that's what you're asking."

From Walsh's subdued, practically brittle tone, Carter could guess that it had been hard on her personally. And she supposed that ever since Walsh had arrived in this dimension and been interrogated with the za'tarc detector, it had been a subject of discussion with the General and the Colonel. Carter would have hated to be in the same position. The fact that she and the Colonel had been forced to admit their feelings was quite bad enough.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," said Carter quietly.

"You thought I'd done something to him, didn't you? I saw how you were looking at me when O'Neill came to confront me with those dog-tags."

"I... uh, I didn't know what to think. And with all the paranoia around Professor Walsh, well..." Carter shook her head. "It was dumb, I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I would have probably done the same."

"No really, I should have known better... Kawalsky even hinted that you and... actually no, he suggested that our Colonel and Professor Walsh might have also been in some kind of romantic relationship that ended badly."

"Kawalsky should learn to shut up."

Carter noted that Walsh hadn't denied that possibility though. And although Carter didn't much like the idea, it did kind of make sense. The Colonel was too ambivalent about Walsh to have a simple grudge against her. And that fight they'd had in Walsh's office was pretty charged.

"Look, Carter, I might as well–"

The windows exploded. Carter instinctively shielded her face against the flying glass with one arm, her free hand reaching in the bag by her bed to get her handgun. Heavy footsteps sounded out in the room and she jumped to her feet, pointing her gun in the gloom. Walsh was standing there in a fighting stance, but a dark form grabbed her so fast that she barely had time to move.

Something gripped Carter by the back of the neck, a hand so heavy and strong that she thought it was going to snap her spine. She tried to point the gun at it but another hand caught her wrist, twisting it painfully until she dropped her weapon.

"Which one?" asked a man's voice from Walsh's vicinity.

"Brown hair."

A hand mussed Carter's hair. "Both blonde."

The doorknob rattled loudly. "Carter?" The Colonel's voice sounded out from the other side of the door. "Walsh? What's going on?"

A giant hand clapped down over Carter's mouth just as she opened it to call, muffling her voice and practically smothering her.

"Take both," said the man near Walsh, just as a first kick shook the door.

Carter let out a little groan as she was roughly shoved towards the broken window, then lifted through it. She tried to resist, to punch and kick, but her blows seemed to land on hard leather. The motel room door broke open with a loud crunch, but it was too late. Before anyone could do anything, she and Walsh were thrown into the back of a van. The doors closed and everything went pitch black.


	20. Chapter 20

She should have known that coming back to Sunnydale was a bad idea. Creeping around in disguise was irritating, sifting through her alter ego's personal belongings and discovering things about her was disorientating, and as for Riley, well... that was just gut-wrenching. But she hadn't imagined that this little trip might actually become so dangerous. Clearly, she'd underestimated the grudge the local "subterrestrial" population had against her counterpart.

After a bumpy drive, they'd been brought into some kind of old factory, if you could still call it that. The walls were blackened with soot and the smell of smoke still permeated the place; sudden whiffs of ashy air attacked her throat and eyes.

Now that Walsh could see the creatures that had grabbed them, she wasn't surprised that neither she nor Carter had been able to resist them. They were tall and extremely muscular, with bony protrusions jutting out from their shoulders. Horns curled out of their heads, adding to their height. Their skin was a muted orange, veiny, and – from what she could tell by the grip one of them had on her wrists – thick and leathery. There were two more creatures in the room, with long fangs and prominent brow ridges; vampires. They had crossbows trained on her and Carter.

"Not as cocky now, are we?" said the bleached-blond vampire they'd encountered earlier. He was looking very pleased with himself, pacing up and down in front of them. "You really shouldn't have come back to Sunnydale, at least not without an army. And I don't mean that sort of army."

He nodded towards Carter with his chin. She'd stopped struggling too – it was no use against those creatures – and was just standing there, her face set. Walsh could see light cuts all over Carter's exposed shoulders and arms, and a couple of deeper wounds where the glass had caught her. She herself felt a dull ache and blood oozing down her left forearm. Nothing major, but who knew how much blood could entice a vampire into a feeding frenzy.

"What do you want from us?" said Carter levelly.

"Weeeell... you, my pretty, look like you'll be payment enough for my lads over there. I was going to give them cash, but I think they'll like you better." The vampires in the background shifted excitedly.

"As for you, bitch," he turned to Walsh, "you're going to get that chip out of my head."

She'd been suspecting this since the moment he'd shown up in the stinking factory. She'd gone over the possible options in her mind but still hadn't figured out a satisfactory game plan. They might torture or kill Carter as long as she refused to operate. They'd certainly kill them both at some point, whether she succeeded or failed. And she probably would fail; she only had a vague idea of what her alter ego could have done to the vampire's brain and she wasn't a brain surgeon. The best she could do was play for more time. She was pretty sure help would show up eventually.

"Fine," she said. "But I'll need a few things. Medical supplies and information."

"Got the medical supplies," he said. The two vampires in the background moved aside to reveal an operating table.

"All right. Mr...?"

"Spike. Just Spike."

"Let me see what you have, Spike," she said. "And tell your friend would let me go. He's holding me a bit too tight."

"Ah, that's Fyarl demons for you. I thought it'd be a nice touch. You know, since one of them chased you down the street and made you shriek like a little girl."

Well, Maggie apparently lived more dangerously than Walsh had imagined. "Charming. Nevertheless, a surgeon's hands are her most precious tools and he's this close to breaking my wrist."

"Fine, let her go, mate." The Fyarl demon didn't react. Spike rolled his eyes, then made an elaborate series of guttural growls and clicks that Walsh supposed was some sort of subterrestrial; the creature's grip loosened.

Walsh shook free and stepped towards the makeshift operating theatre; the vampires kept their crossbows trained on her as she went. The table was old, rusty in places, the padding mildewed. Perhaps vampires weren't worried about infection.

"Don't even think of trying to stick me with the instruments," said Spike, startling her slightly when he spoke right into her ear. "One step out of line and we make dinner of your friend."

"I was under the impression you'd make dinner of her anyhow." There were scalpels, clamps, retractors, needles, a bone saw, a mechanical drill, and more – everything she needed. It was just a pity she hadn't performed surgery in a rather long time.

"Well, if you do a really top notch job, I might let the two of you live."

Walsh didn't even dignify that obvious lie with a response. "I'll need her to assist me during the procedure."

"Is she a doctor then?"

"No, but she's got some basic medical training and it's all I need. Unless of course one of your... friends here went to med school."

One of the vampires glared at her, obviously irritated by her contemptuous tone. Spike came very close to her, scowling. She resisted the urge to move backwards. He couldn't hurt her. And even if he could, she'd faced the damn Goa'uld and their torture devices, she wasn't about to cower in front of a vampire.

"You have balls, woman, I'll give you that," he growled at her. "'Specially for someone who doesn't know what the hell she's doing." She raised her eyebrows at him. "You're not really Walsh are you? Not the same one who chipped me. _She_ was a rotting corpse the last time I saw her."

Ah, great. He knew. "If you don't think I'm her, why did you kidnap me?"

"I figured you might still know a thing or two, seeing as you're just like her. You're not a twin, are you?"

"No."

"Shapeshifter?"

"I'd have shifted into something else by now, believe me."

"Lich?"

"Isn't that a sort of fruit?" That sounded like one of Jack's lines, but it had come out before she could stop it.

"It's when a someone reanimates their dead body with magic and manages to keep all their brain cells intact," the vampire said very slowly, as if she were stupid.

"Considering Maggie Walsh died three months ago, if I were in her body I doubt I'd look like this."

"Oh I dunno, undertakers do miracles these days with a bit of spray paint. And you do look a bit peaky."

Walsh rolled her eyes. "You're in luck though, I'm a neurologist and I have a pretty good idea of what she did to you." That wasn't quite true; she'd spent some time idly trying to figure out how the other Maggie had managed to do it, and that was about it.

"That's what I like to hear."

"I'll need more information, though. A CT scan would be a good start."

"On the telly they're always ordering an MRI for brain stuff. You sure you know what you're doing?"

"By all means, get an MRI. The magnets in the machine will probably pull that chip through your grey matter in every which direction, I'm sure that would deactivate it. It would also cause a lot of brain damage, but I hear vampires have all of eternity to heal, right?"

"Good, you just passed my little test." He handed her a folder. "Got the CT scan already."

Well there went her plan to keep him busy for a couple of hours while O'Neill tried to locate them. She tried not to let it show, and picked the folder out of his hand.

"Admit it, you're disappointed. You wanted that silver fox boyfriend of yours to come save you with his big gun, didn't you?"

Somehow, his mentioning O'Neill was much more unpleasant than being threatened. She stubbornly avoided looking at Carter and did her best to keep her expression neutral. This was so dumb. She'd been about to tell Carter about what had happened just when the two creatures had attacked, and now a damn vampire had done it for her.

"I'd never have thought Maggie Walsh was a randy old nag," Spike continued. "By the way, I've always wondered, can blokes his age even get it up?"

"Most can. How about vampires?"

He was taken aback by her question, then roared with laughter. "And why would that interest you?"

"I don't know anything about vampire biology. Does your heart beat? Can you breathe?"

"No. I can suck in cigarette smoke but it's not exactly the same."

She opened the folder containing the CT scan results, skimming it as she spoke to him. "How about bleeding?"

"Oh, I bleed all right. And blood definitely goes places, if you see what I mean."

From the dirty leer he was giving her, she certainly did. It didn't make any sense for the blood to flow without a heart to pump it, but she supposed she would have to put it down to some kind of supernatural force moving the blood around, for lack of a better explanation.

"Do you feel pain? Does your body heal?"

"Yes, and yes."

"How about infections?"

"Never had any."

"Well considering where this chip is placed, I'm going to have to open up your skull with a saw. Is that the kind of pain you think you can handle?"

"That's why they make anaesthetics, isn't it?" He produced a vial from his coat pocket and proudly placed it amongst the surgical instruments.

"And you're sure you'll respond to that?"

"Might take a higher dose than for a human, but I don't see why not."

The CT scans showed the chip nestled between the frontal lobes. It looked fairly simple to remove, but she had no idea whether there were any failsafes on it. If she'd had a hand in its creation, she certainly would have made some. And if there were any, removing the chip could be deadly for the patient and perhaps also the surgeon. Walsh sighed; the prospect of touching the chip and setting off a boobie trap wasn't one that she liked.

* * *

"I am so not hearing this!"

"Buffy, come on..."

"No no no no, Riley, you come on. You're talking to government people again? Behind my back?"

"Well in Riley's defence, Buffy, I did invite them here..."

The young woman stopped short, eyes going wide, then swooped around towards Rupert. "You did what? Giles, what the hell were you thinking?!"

"Um look, listen," said Daniel in his best diplomatic voice. "We're not the same military organisation that was in Sunnydale..."

"Daniel," Jack growled at him. Daniel didn't care at this point, but before he could continue, Riley spoke.

"And as I already told you, she's not the Walsh from this dimension."

"And Buffy," said a redhead called Willow, "she's still a human. And there's someone else with her, and, well... Fyarl demons. Not good." She said all this in a nervous little voice, but she got her point across pretty well.

Buffy let out a long sigh and paced the room for a while. Everyone went quiet and kept out of her way; even Jack was silent, although Daniel could tell from his face that he was quietly simmering on the inside. The Slayer didn't look like much – young, blonde and rather petite – but Daniel could tell she was fierce just by the tone she used on the people in her group, and the cautious way they spoke to her.

"Okay," she said at last, planting herself in the middle of the room with her arms crossed.

They were in Rupert's flat, and Daniel was still surprised at how quickly everyone had been alerted and brought together. Barely half an hour had gone by since those creatures had grabbed Sam and Maggie, and Giles had already managed to get the Slayer and some of her friends to help. They were obviously well-organised.

"Okay, tell me what happened again," Buffy said sternly. "From the beginning, Giles," she added with a glare.

"I mentioned an artefact to Daniel, who's also an archaeologist, and it set off alarm bells for him. He thinks it contains a... a sort of parasite creature."

"And why aren't we just getting rid of it?"

"Well... well, because... that's a good point, actually."

"You guys want to study it, don't you?" asked Buffy, looking pointedly between Jack, Teal'c and Daniel.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss my orders with you, ma'am," Jack said, his tone purposely sarcastic and defiant.

"But... well, they know these things," Giles cut in before Buffy had time to answer. "I've never encountered them myself and to be honest I'm not sure how to handle them safely."

"We do," said Daniel with what he hoped would be a placating smile. "Even stopped them from destroying the planet a couple times."

"What part of 'classified' don't you get, Daniel?"

"Oh come on Jack, we've got be able to trust each other here, if we're gonna work together."

Jack just pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an angry huff. Teal'c didn't say anything; he just stood there with the most forbidding expression Daniel had ever seen on him.

"Fine, whatever," said Buffy at last. "So you guys came to get this thing and then what happened? Riley?"

"Well, I was having coffee with Xander and I thought I saw Professor Walsh," said Riley meekly. "But she disappeared and I thought I imagined it... then we were walking home and she and Colonel O'Neill barged out of an alley."

Buffy raised an eyebrow and turned towards Jack. "You're Colonel O'Neill." He responded with a shrug. "What were you running from?"

"A vampire. He tried to mug us but it turned out he had a chip in his head."

"Spike," said Rupert.

"Oh? And did he recognise her?" asked Willow.

"Yeah." Jack's face was looking darker by the minute.

"So I guess Spike figured out where she was, paid a couple of goons to get her, and now he wants... what? To get his revenge?"

"More likely his chip out," said Rupert.

"That could be bad," said Buffy flatly. "Can she do it? Does she know how to do it?"

"Uh, probably not," said Daniel. "I mean she's a neurologist, I think, but she never experimented on vampires in her dimension. At best she could maybe figure out how Professor Walsh did it."

"In any case, the moment that chip comes out, she and your friend are done for," said Rupert.

Buffy nodded. "Or the moment Spike figures out she can't do it."

"So what are we still doing here?" asked Jack in a controlled but irritated voice.

"Well, where could he have taken them?" said Willow. "Not in a crypt, right? It wouldn't be big enough for an operation."

"Especially with a pair of Fyarl demons, yes," said Rupert thoughtfully.

"And they'll need gurneys and instruments and stuff to operate," said Willow.

"The hospital? You don't think they'd try to do it in the hospital?" said Riley.

"Okay, this is what we'll do. Riley, you go to the hospital, ask some questions." Buffy turned to Jack. "I guess you could go with him, maybe you can play the military card and get them to tell you more stuff."

Jack frowned at her, but didn't protest.

"Willow, Giles, see if you can use a spell to find Fyarl demons. I guess your friends could help with the research." By friends, Daniel supposed she meant him and Teal'c.

"What about you?" asked Rupert.

Buffy looked grim. "I'll go round up some weapons."


	21. Chapter 21

Walsh had spent a while looking over the instruments, making sure she had everything she needed and explaining the procedure to Carter. She'd tried to go very slowly – unnatural for her; she tended to think and talk fast – but in spite of that they still hadn't bought as much time as she would have liked.

"So, are you done giving your little friend the grand tour? We don't have all night, you know?" Spike was standing right behind them, listening to her every word.

"Would you rather we just went blundering into your head without any preparation?"

"You just spent five minutes explaining the difference between these two nearly identical syringes. You're ready."

"Uh, not quite," said Carter. "That wound on my upper arm's bleeding and it's not gonna stop."

"So?"

Walsh was ever so thankful for Carter's idea. "So, it's not ideal for operating, especially for such a delicate procedure. Besides, I think the blood's making your friends nervous."

Spike glanced at the two vampires holding crossbows. They were fidgety, their shiny eyes following Carter's every move, upper lip curled hungrily.

He rolled his eyes. "Amateurs."

"We should get these wounds cleaned up," Walsh said.

Spike suddenly leered at her in a way that she didn't like at all. "You know what, that's actually a great idea. You can stitch up G.I. Jane here while I watch. Then maybe I'll know I can trust you with my noggin."

"Very well." Walsh could tell there was a trap hidden in there somewhere, but it was a good occasion.

There were three suture kits on the tray. She grabbed one and methodically prepared a clean enough tray to treat Carter. Vampires couldn't get infections, but this place was a health hazard for humans.

As she reached for the bottle of Lidocaine, Spike snatched it out of her reach.

"What d'you think you're doing?"

"I'll need a small amount of anesthetic to do the sutures."

Spike grinned at her. "I don't think so. I think you ladies are going to show me how tough you army types actually are."

And there was the catch. This was going to be some sadistic show for him, that was why he was grinning. Walsh shot a glance at Carter, who shrugged and came closer.

"Just do it."

Walsh knew that tone, the level voice Carter used when she was waiting for something really unpleasant to happen to her with patient determination. It brooked no argument.

Gloves on, Walsh started with a cursory examination of the wound. Glass had obviously slashed through it over about three to four inches, diagonally, down the side of her arm. It wasn't too deep, but it wouldn't stop bleeding on its own. She wiped the blood off as best she could with some wipes from the kit, and picked out a few pieces of stray glass with tweezers.

"I think I can get away with about eight stitches," Walsh said. That was the bare minimum, but she didn't want to make Carter suffer unduly.

"Do as many as you need," Carter said. She looked straight into Walsh's eyes, her voice very firm. Obviously, she wanted them to gain as much time as they could.

Walsh took as much time as possible disinfecting the wound and the instruments. Carter couldn't even sit, the floor was filthy and there weren't any adequate seats; they were going to have to do this standing. Walsh took a deep breath as she held the needle at the ready, heard Carter do the same, and started working.

As expected, Carter was very resilient. She flinched at first, but despite the pain, she stood upright and spent most of the procedure glaring at the vampires. Walsh wished she could do this quickly, so that it would be over and done with. It was a struggle to remember to go slowly, to gain precious minutes.

By the time she was finished – it must have taken a good half hour – Carter had twelve small stitches in her forearm. When Walsh stood back and stretched, Spike sauntered in front of her.

"Nice job, doc," he said, mock-admiring her handiwork. He turned to Carter. "You could have been a little more entertaining."

"Sorry to disappoint," Carter spat in her most sarcastic tone, a defiant sneer twisting her face.

"Oh well. It was still fun." He came very close to Carter, pressing himself against her from behind, face practically nestled against her neck. "I know it hurt. I could hear your heart race."

With a nasty laugh, Spike waltzed away. Carter visibly shuddered once he'd moved away from her, and crossed her arms.

"All right, how d'you want me doc?" Spike called, perched on the gurney. "On my back or on my belly?"

"Just a minute. I also have a gash on my arm." She didn't have a chance in hell to suture that herself, though. Besides, she'd have to use another needle, and with their limited supplies she doubted Spike would allow it.

"Hurry up." The vampire growled at her.

She dabbed at the wound with the remainder of the disinfectant wipes and applied gauze and surgical tape. It would need further care, once they got out of this. They were going to get out of this.

"On your belly," she finally told Spike.

Walsh moved towards the antiquated table and bent down to adjust it. The two vampires cocked their crossbows threateningly.

"Tell your men to relax," she snapped. "If they're paranoid about me trying to adjust an operating table, what are they going to do when I have to open your skull?"

"You heard her, boys," Spike said. "Let the lady work unless I tell you otherwise."

Walsh finally adjusted the table to the height she needed and glanced at Carter. Carter was staring at Spike, looking determined and quietly furious. She looked up at Walsh and nodded at her.

"All right," said Walsh, as Spike lay down on the table. "We'll need to shave you first."

"What? That wasn't part of the deal!"

"Well how do you expect us to see what we're doing if there's hair in our way?" said Carter sharply.

"Do you know how long it takes to get my hair to look like this? Hmm?"

Carter opened her mouth and then closed it, obviously biting back something rude.

"Well fine," said Walsh, "we can try and get a flap open despite the hair. After all he doesn't seem worried about infection, and that's the major concern in humans."

It looked like they wouldn't be allowed to procrastinate any longer. With a sigh, Walsh loaded the syringe up with Lidocaine and bent over Spike, heart hammering in her chest. She hadn't done anything like this in a long time.

* * *

O'Neill was slowly but surely reaching bursting point.

He'd kept his mouth shut since they'd got back from the hospital, letting Finn and his girlfriend – who allegedly had superpowers – do their thing. They'd found out that the blond vampire, Spike, had visited Sunnydale Memorial and threatened a radiologist into giving him a CT scan. He'd also stolen a bunch of surgical supplies. Of course that told them squat about where the bastard was keeping Carter and Walsh now.

Lucky for them, Daniel's nerdy friend Giles had done some kind of spell while O'Neill was out with Finn. He called it a location spell, it showed where different kinds of demons and vampires were situated on a map of the city. O'Neill still couldn't really believe that magic stuff, but he was forced to admit that the map was glowing in a bunch of different colours and made a pretty impressive light show. As long as it was accurate, he didn't care about explanations.

"I'm so happy it worked this time," the redhead was telling Giles. "I'm not sure what went wrong last time with Tara but..."

"Okay Buffster, what's the plan?" the kid called Xander asked Buffy. She was going through an arsenal that looked like it had come out of a medieval armoury. Swords, crossbows, nondescript pointed bits of wood, and an axe.

In the meantime, O'Neill had nothing to do but quietly tear his hair out, waiting for a girl barely out of high school to organise a rescue operation. If it wasn't too late. Well, at least he knew Walsh could spin a good line of bullshit and talk treatment options or whatever. He wasn't sure she'd go ahead with an operation though. And what about Carter? Would they keep her hostage to put pressure on Walsh? He sure hoped so, because the alternative didn't bear thinking about.

"Okay," said Buffy at last. The room went quiet. "So there are two Fyarl demons and three vampires in the old factory according to Willow's spell. Since we're pretty sure Walsh was taken by Fyarls, that's where we're going first."

"So how do we get rid of those... Fyarl guys?" said O'Neill.

"You don't. I'm the Slayer, it's my job."

"The hell it is! Carter and Walsh are under my responsibility and there's nothing you can do that'll keep me from going there!"

Buffy stared at him, her face set. "I could knock you out."

He glared at her, hoping hard that she couldn't tell he was unsettled. _Could_ she knock him out? From the slightly worried looks on the faces around him, O'Neill supposed it wasn't an idle threat.

"Look," said O'Neill, trying to keep his voice calm. "Carter's our teammate. You've got a team around you too, how would you feel if you were told to just sit around while one of them had been kidnapped by vampires?"

"You guys could get killed," Buffy said flatly.

"Uh..." said Daniel. "Technically, so could all the other guys on your team. They don't have any special powers. And, you know, it's not like we're just civilians."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can any of you use a crossbow?"

"I can probably handle it with a couple practice shots," said O'Neill.

She threw a crossbow at him across the room. He caught it awkwardly, fumbling with it until he could make head and tail of the contraption. This wasn't exactly like those they used in the military.

"Giles, you have the bolts?"

"Uh? Oh, yes, right here." Giles held out a handful of bolts and O'Neill grabbed them. The tip was particularly shiny.

"I dipped the tips in silver," Giles explained. "These are for the Fyarl demons – silver should kill them, especially if they hit the heart. And, uh, be careful of their, uh, their nasal secretions. Apparently their... well, their mucus can make a solid cocoon around a person."

"Got it," muttered O'Neill, looking over the crossbow and bolts to familiarise himself with them.

"Okay. The vampires you can either kill by cutting their head off or by staking them through the heart," Buffy explained.

"Oh, uh, Teal'c is an expert with staffs," Daniel said.

"Is he?" Buffy sounded dubious. "Giles, you still have those training staffs?"

It wasn't long before Teal'c had a wooden staff in hand, one whose tip had been whittled down to a sharp point. He couldn't exactly flourish it in the small living room, at least not if they wanted to leave the furniture in one piece, but O'Neill knew that Teal'c would kick butt with it. He could kick butt with just about anything.

It was good. O'Neill felt a little calmer now that he had a weapon in his hands and the prospect of something to do. At least then he wouldn't have to stand around thinking about "what ifs".

* * *

It was hard for Walsh to keep her fingers from trembling, though whether it was from fear or anticipation she couldn't tell. Cutting the flap open had been a bit of a chore, but it had worked out. She'd just now finished working on the vampire's skull with a manual drill, making small holes that she would use to insert the bone saw.

Walsh had to admit it was all rather fascinating. This really wasn't the moment, but her scientist's mind had woken up, and now she was curious to find out exactly where the chip was embedded and how it all worked. Of course the thought that it might have failsafes still bothered her, but for now, just for now, she was focused on doing as good a job as she could exploring the vampire's grey matter.

"Carter, could you get the saw, please?"

Carter stepped forward, handing her the object. Walsh paused, bone saw in hand, took a deep breath...

And noticed movement in a dark corner far beyond their makeshift operating theatre. She immediately stared back down, focusing hard on her patient, who was lying there with a bored expression. None of the vampires or demons shifted, they seemed entranced by the operation.

"What's the hold up?" asked Spike.

"Just checking whether the saw is the right type," she said.

"Well if it's not, I suggest you improvise," he replied impatiently.

"Just a moment," she told him. "Carter, I need your expert opinion."

Carter came closer to her, and Walsh noticed the figure in the shadows flattening against a pillar. She knew the way he moved, she'd recognise him anywhere. That was O'Neill. Help wasn't far. She handed Carter the saw.

"Carter. I was wondering how much pressure you think we'd need to put on this if we wanted to separate C1 and C2 and section the spinal cord," she said, hoping that Carter would understand what she was suggesting, and that none of the creatures around them understood that level of jargon.

Carter stared at her, frowning. Walsh knew the saw wasn't sharp enough to entirely decapitate someone, but perhaps with enough force behind it, it might be possible to sever the spinal cord. If the myth about vampires and decapitation was true, then snapping the spine might be enough to kill one; at the very least, it might incapacitate it for quite a while.

"Wait, what's that about the spinal cord?" asked Spike, propping himself up on his elbow.

Something shot through the room and hit one of the horned demons behind them. It let out a terrible howl and curled up in pain, making the ground shake as it beat it with huge fists.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" screamed Spike.

Teal'c and Daniel's friend had just burst into the room, following a blonde girl. She was holding an axe and marched right up towards the vampires, whose attention fully focused on her.

"Slayer!" Spike roared.

Walsh expected him to stay and fight, but he took one look at the chaos erupting in the room around him – arrows flying from two more directions, Teal'c swirling a long staff through the air, the demons flapping around in the confusion – and leapt off the table, making off for the exit.

A vampire, perhaps taking advantage of the confusion to get a much-desired snack, flew towards Carter. Walsh shoved the operating table towards it; it missed him completely, but Carter turned to see him coming. She launched herself at him and they fell in a pile together.

Walsh didn't have time to figure out a way to help her, something grabbed at her arm, its grip crushing. She flailed at it with her fist, trying to land a blow on leather-tough skin, twisting around to see what was going on. The horned creature caught her by the throat and squeezed.

She saw stars when its fist clenched around her windpipe; there was a rumbling sound but she couldn't tell if it came from inside her ringing ears or from the beast in front of her. Her nails clawed at the giant hand to no avail...

Then she brutally swung backwards, still clutching the demon's wrist. Her foggy brain couldn't figure out what had happened, until she saw the demon staring in horror at the bloody stump of his arm. She disengaged the severed hand from her throat and threw it as far as she could. Someone abruptly pulled her away from the demon as an arrow flew near them and hit it squarely in the chest. With a whimper the creature crumpled limply to the ground.

"And I thought I'd never have to give you a hand again."

The young woman had a poised, sarcastic voice, with a Valley Girl kind of drawl. Walsh barely had time meet her eye before the girl enthusiastically sauntered off into the fray again, bloody axe swinging in her hand. So, that was the Slayer.

Walsh looked around to see Teal'c battling the vampire that had tried to attack Carter, using a staff expertly; she noted the vampire had a saw-shaped gash across its throat. Daniel's friend was grappling with a vampire, desperately trying to prevent him from picking up the sword he'd dropped to the ground. The Slayer tapped the vampire on the shoulder, gracefully delivering a kick in his face when he turned around. Moments later she swung the axe as if it were an extension of her own arm, cleanly taking off the vampire's head.

A cry attracted Walsh's attention. The horned demon that had been shot first was gripping Carter's ankle and pulling her off her feet. It didn't look like it could get up and it had two arrows protruding from its abdomen and shoulder, but it was obviously still strong enough to drag Carter to the ground.

Walsh rushed towards the creature and grabbed one of the arrows, ripping it out of the its shoulder. It turned towards her, exposing its chest exactly as she'd expected. She used all her body weight to shove the arrow back into the demon's heart. It gurgled, then went limp. Carter wrenched herself free, panting.

Teal'c was still fighting the second vampire with his staff, keeping it at bay, hitting it, never giving it an opportunity to get close to him. The Slayer marched up behind the vampire and smartly prodded it in the back with a piece of wood. The vampire burst into a cloud of dust. Teal'c face darkened into a scowl, as if she'd ruined his fun.

Then O'Neill was striding towards them, a crossbow in one hand, brow knitted with concern. Riley and Daniel joined him from other hidden corners of the room – they'd been the other shooters. The Slayer gave Riley a brief smile.

"Everyone okay? Carter?" asked O'Neill.

Carter had just got to her feet. "I'm fine, sir."

The Slayer was surveying the corpses of the two horned demons, poking them with the tip of her axe to make sure they were dead. The two vampires were no more than piles of dust on the sooty concrete.

"So are we going after Spike?" asked Riley.

"Nah," said the Slayer. "Neutered vampire, remember? Not ethical to kill a defenceless vamp, blah blah blah."

"Yeah, defenceless," Riley growled, indicating the chaos around them with a sweep of his hand.

"I get your point," the young woman said, patting Riley's shoulder. "I'll think about it."

Riley shrugged with a scowl, then took a step towards Walsh. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," she said, her voice coming out hoarse.

"Uh, by the way, this is Buffy," Riley said, nodding towards the blonde. "She's the Slayer."

"Hello, Buffy."

Now that her mind had cooled off, Walsh remembered that her alter ego had tried to kill this young woman. She supposed the furious glares from Daniel's friend probably had something to do with that.

Buffy looked at her with a frown, big eyes shining, as if she were trying to figure something out. Then she shrugged, her face hardened. "Spike is still chipped, right?"

"He is. Your timing was perfect."

"Good. Now you guys better scram. Not to be rude or anything, but people don't exactly like you much in this town."

"Yes, I'd noticed that."

"Okay, c'mon people," said O'Neill, louder than necessary. "Davis is waiting for us out there, and you two," he looked between Walsh and Carter, "you need to get some medical attention."

After having her ankle squeezed by those demons, Carter needed some help from Teal'c to make her way to the vehicles Davis was guarding outside the factory; she probably had a pretty bad sprain. Walsh herself wasn't too steady on her feet, and with the adrenaline draining away her throat was starting to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Riley came up beside Walsh as they walked. "Sorry we didn't see that coming."

"None of us did, and we all should have." She was tired, much too tired for guilt.

"I guess so," said Riley.

"And you came to save us in the end. Buffy didn't have to do that."

When she heard her name mentioned, Buffy turned around and looked at Walsh. She made a pouty little face and turned away again. Walsh wondered what kind of relationship the Slayer had with her alter ego, before things went sour.

"She's got a good heart." Riley paused, watching Walsh, waiting for something. "You're not going to make fun of me for saying that?"

"I'm sorry, I'm fresh out of mockery for tonight."

"But you still have sarcasm," said O'Neill, who'd obviously been eavesdropping, "so all isn't lost."

She chuckled softly, settling down in the car, idly listening to the chatter as Daniel said his goodbyes, as Carter complimented Teal'c on his vampire slaying technique, as O'Neill exchanged a few curt words with Buffy. Soon, everyone was ready to go, and Davis started up.

She didn't say goodbye to Riley again. He watched her, and she watched him, until the car rolled away. Nothing more needed to be said.

With some luck, they'd be back in Cheyenne within the next couple of hours. Walsh couldn't wait; it was a prison of sorts, but it was also home.


	22. Chapter 22

O'Neill felt so incredibly dumb as he knocked at her door. Dumb because he had no idea what he wanted to say, dumb because of how he'd handled the situation in Sunnydale, dumb because even though he knew better, here he was, knocking at Walsh's door. And she wasn't even opening. It was early, maybe she was still sleeping. Dumb.

The door opened a crack and she peered out, obviously bleary-eyed. He tried not to look too embarrassed at having woken her up.

"Hey," he said, super eloquently.

"What time is it?" she mumbled.

"Half past six."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, in the morning... look, it's not an emergency or anything, I guess I could come back later..."

She didn't look very happy, but she did move aside to let him in. Although most of his instincts were telling him to run before he made even more of a fool of himself, he entered the room. It was exactly the same as the last time he'd seen it, except for the mussed sheets.

"Just give me a minute," said Walsh, and she disappeared into the bathroom. He didn't blame her, it was of a bit faux-pas to turn up unannounced at a woman's place. Hell, even he wouldn't have liked her to show up when he was still half-asleep and barely dressed. He should have thought of that before, but clearly he wasn't thinking very much at all at the moment.

He walked around the room nervously. Too late to bolt now, but he still didn't know what he was going to say to her. He just... needed to touch base. Talk about the past few days. Except he was crap at talking, so that plan was going to go really well.

Walsh came back; she hadn't bothered to throw on any more clothes. She just wore sweatpants and a military issue tank top that didn't leave much to the imagination. Her shoulders and arms were marked here and there with little scrapes from the scuffle with the vampires and the broken windows, no doubt. Her throat was taking on shades of purple where the demon had grabbed her. Thinking about that moment sent cold sweat down O'Neill's spine. He'd been in the middle of reloading his crossbow and hadn't been in a position to do a damn thing, except watch as that huge creature tried to throttle her. For a moment he'd thought she was done for.

Perhaps that was also why he was there. Perhaps he just wanted to make sure that she was safe. One dead Maggie was enough.

O'Neill was drawn out of his thoughts when he noticed that that Walsh was looking at him intently, waiting for his next move.

"You wanted to talk to me?" she said.

He opened the paper bag he'd brought with him and handed her a coffee from one of the coffee shops in Colorado Springs. She stared for a moment, then chuckled softly. He really liked to hear that sound, and felt himself relax just a little.

"Bribing me with coffee, are you?" she asked as she took a sip.

He just smiled at her and got his own cup, raising it in a mock-toast before drinking too. They spent a while quietly sipping coffee, propped up against her desk.

"So, uh, did you need stitches?" he finally said. It wasn't very inspired, but it was a start.

She held up a bandaged forearm. "I got a deep cut here when they pulled me out of the window, yeah."

"Could've been worse. And your throat?"

"Should be as good as new in a couple weeks." Which meant it was probably agonisingly painful at the moment. After a few more sips, she looked up at him. "How about you, are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I mean my ego kinda hurts, and my professional pride got its ass kicked, but apart from that I'm swell."

"Was General Hammond angry?"

He let out a long sigh. "I think he's still trying to decide whether he's angry or disappointed or amused by the ridiculousness of it all. He made some interesting faces at the debriefing. Hadn't seen some of them in a long time."

Lucky for them that Daniel hadn't blabbed about the Stargate. Hammond didn't like the fact that they knew about Walsh and the possibility of alternate dimensions, but Daniel had been convincing enough about the fact that the people in Sunnydale needed to know that she wasn't a Maggie returned from the dead. With some luck, he'd managed to sweet-talk them out of getting written up for this.

"I'm sorry I got you into trouble," said Walsh.

"You know what? Don't be. It was worth it." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay we could have done with less vamp attacks, but it gave Finn some closure. The General might disagree, but I think that was a good thing."

She nodded, a thoughtful, faraway look on her face.

"Even if the events that led up to meeting him were a bit... weird," he added.

Her eyes snapped back to him. "Weird?"

"I mean the vampire stuff. Not the... well, that was weird too, but it wasn't a bad kind of weird. I think." Oh god, he was babbling now.

"It felt like a damn good kind of weird," she mumbled around her foam cup.

Damn good, huh? That was encouraging. Not that he'd come to see her to continue what they'd started. Well... he may have thought about it, but it wasn't exactly appropriate. Or wise. Not that wisdom was usually his biggest quality.

She glanced up at him, as if realising what she'd just said. "You know, as much as I... enjoyed the moment, I'm not sure it was a good idea. There's such a complicated history between me and Jack, and you and Maggie..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Yet he felt kind of disappointed though. Another proof that he was far from wise.

"And you're probably not going to like this, but Carter knows."

"Knows what?"

"That chipped vampire mentioned what he saw in the alley and made some lewd remarks."

"Ah." That might explain why Carter hadn't been making eye contact with him and had otherwise avoided him ever since they'd got back. "Why might I not like it?"

She looked up at him, frowning. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

And there it was again, that expression. He'd noticed it when they'd talked in the storage room, but it had been amid all the rest of her confessions. It was a pained look, not even jealous, just... defeated.

"You know what? Nothing ever happened with Carter, and nothing's ever gonna happen with Carter."

She toyed with her cup, looking at him sceptically.

"The only thing that _did_ happen is that things got... awkward when we got interrogated with that damn za'tarc detector."

"How so?"

"We were questioned about that... that moment when we were separated by the force shield, when her armband failed. And it glowed red because apparently we had feelings that we didn't want to admit to. In that moment."

"Right, just in that moment," she said, her tone thick with sarcasm.

"Look, I care for Carter a lot, way more than is appropriate in a professional relationship, and it goes both ways. You know what? Big deal. I kept on wondering what that detector would have shown if Daniel had been on the other side of that barrier. Now that would have been embarrassing to explain, let me tell you."

She cracked a smile at last, and he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He was getting more annoyed about this than he should. Why was it so important to him to convince her that things between him and Carter were platonic, anyway?

"Carter and I have been working together for four years and haven't even come close to breaking the regs. Not even under drugs or weird circumstances or when we were stranded together."

"That doesn't really prove anything, you know, except that you're more cautious than my Jack about regulations." She said it softly, looking away from him.

And now he knew why it was important to set things straight. She was still suffering, still assuming something about her world that probably wasn't true. Part of him wanted to shake her and tell her that if a Jack O'Neill had decided to sleep with her, to put both their jobs on the line, it wasn't because he was secretly in love with another woman. That was just way too complicated for him to fathom.

But he couldn't tell her that. It wasn't his place, and he couldn't make her believe anything, could he? He let out a little sigh.

"Well now I see what you meant when you mentioned you had issues with him."

She made a frustrated little sound and rubbed her face. "I'm sorry. I'm still exhausted from our little trip."

He couldn't help laying a hand on the base of her neck and rubbing gently. She didn't move away, he felt her relax slightly under his touch.

"I know I'm not the most forthcoming guy when it comes to relationship stuff. And I guess your Jack wasn't either. But as far as I'm concerned, Carter and I are colleagues, and friends, and that's it. If she was upset about what the vamp said, well... she'll have to get over it."

He removed his hand, a little reluctantly, and they fell quiet for a while, sipping coffee and mulling things over. He hadn't planned on telling her any of this; actually his plan had been limited to bringing her coffee and saying "hi" and seeing how that went. Now they were having deep conversations about thorny problems and he suspected it wasn't over.

Right on cue, she turned to him. "I'd like you to tell me about her," she said. "Your Maggie, I mean. About what happened between you."

"You have her diaries."

"I don't care what she has to say about you. I want to know your side of the story. You've been so angry and distrustful with me... I just wish I knew what that was all about."

Oh god. He really dreaded this, but she was probably right. If he wanted anything to do with her, if he wanted her to trust him – and apparently he did, or he wouldn't still be standing there – he was going to have to tell her.

"Fine," he said, crossing the room to sit down on the edge of her bed. "I'll try."

But then only silence followed. Walsh glanced at him over her coffee cup, then pulled up a chair to sit opposite him. This didn't help. In fact it triggered vivid memories of sitting in Maggie's office during psych evaluations. O'Neill closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath.

"I met her when I got back from Iraq, after Operation Desert storm." He sighed, hesitating. This wasn't something he liked to mention. "Before that I'd been captured and imprisoned in Iraq. Dunno if that also happened to your Jack."

"It did." Walsh's voice was soft, choked. "I was stationed in Turkey when they brought him back. I debriefed him."

Ouch. She'd probably seen him at his worst, then. Not many people had been brave enough to stick with him after that, not when he was paranoid and hurting and full of rage against the whole world. It had taken years before he'd mellowed again.

"Well then as you can guess, I wasn't exactly in the best of moods when I got back here. Maggie was working in the same base as me, doing some kind of study on recruits. We sometimes had to work together on training programs for new recruits – including Finn, for that matter – and it... didn't work well."

"You argued?"

"All the time. I guess sometimes the arguments got a little... involved."

"Ah, yes, that sort of arguments."

Of course she'd guessed that "involved" was an euphemism for "sexually charged". That was probably the way O'Neills and Walshes interacted everywhere, considering the tension that had risen when they'd argued over those tags.

"Did you have those with your Jack?"

"Quite frequently, in the beginning."

"Until things got physical?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, we argued on and off for quite a long time."

"But you were married."

"Yeah. You know how things were, right?"

"They could have been very different from your situation."

"Fine, fine. Long story short, I sucked at being a husband. And after Iraq it was even worse."

Walsh nodded knowingly. He was glad she didn't try to contradict him. He hadn't messed around with another woman, that was one thing in his favour. But if he'd been stuck with Maggie away from home... he could see how things would have slipped real fast. He probably wasn't a better man than her Jack; he just hadn't had the right opportunity to do what he'd been longing to do.

He was aware of her watching him quietly, prompting him on with her gaze. Damn shrinks.

"Anyhow, those fights with Maggie didn't make things better with Sara. And then Charlie... you know."

She looked away. He stared at the floor for a moment. It was lucky that she did know, because he hated telling that story too.

"They called me back to active duty to go to Abydos, and they got Maggie to give me a psych evaluation to clear me for the mission. She failed me. I thought she was just being her usual unpleasant self but now..."

"She didn't want you to go on a suicide mission."

"I guess. But at the time I was just... well I went apeshit and I'm not really proud of some of the things I said to her when I confronted her about it."

She nodded. "You have quite the mouth on you. And you still went to Abydos, and came back, obviously."

"Obviously. But they were worried I'd be too unstable and not get the job done, so they put me on pills. And then I ran out, never filled my prescription again, and within a week I was ready to shoot myself from all the weird withdrawal symptoms."

She laughed softly, not seeming that surprised. "And that's how you knew about the withdrawal symptoms..."

"Poetic justice, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Maggie came over to look after me. Not even sure why I asked her rather than someone else. And when I got better, well..."

"You started sleeping together."

"Pretty much. We saw each other for a year or so. It was always... kind of turbulent."

"You didn't stop fighting?"

"We bickered, but that wasn't the problem. No, I think I said the wrong things sometimes and she'd just get really cold."

"And of course she never explained why."

"Nope. But now, after what you said to Finn... I think I know."

"Ah."

He frowned and let out a long sigh. This wasn't easy. It had been running through his head ever since she'd told Finn about that pregnancy stuff.

"Do you think I set her off?"

"Set what off?"

"That... making monsters thing. I kinda made some references about maybe settling down and... well, starting over. Not that I felt ready to do that at the time, hell I'm not even sure that I am now. But, well... I said that."

Walsh looked sad. Not as sad as he felt from raking up that old memory, though. Maggie had made light of it, dished up some sarcastic comeback, but now he was sure that this was when she started being weird with him.

"Well, how were you to know?"

"I dunno." He sighed. "Anyhow, a few months later she just stopped coming to see me. I tried to get in touch and her phone had been disconnected, then I found out she'd moved. It was like she'd disappeared off the face of the earth."

Walsh frowned and shook her head a little.

"The next I hear from her, from a shared acquaintance at the Pentagon, she's dead. I called in a few favours, got as far as Sunnydale, and then I found Finn. He told me what she'd done. Except that 'mommy' part. And... well, the rest you know."

She was quiet for a while, probably processing all the information she had so that she could make sense of it. Then she looked up at him, green eyes meeting his.

"Don't blame yourself," she said quietly but firmly. "Perhaps something you said did set off a reaction, but it was her choice to keep it all to herself and to run away instead of confronting you with the problem. I suspect this particular neurosis was deep set and she must have been preparing this project for years, waiting for the right opportunity."

He couldn't decide whether hearing that was comforting or not. Thinking about it just made him feel horrible, and the only thing that helped a little was crossing his arms tight over his chest. They didn't look at each other, didn't make a sound for a long while. He just kept his eyes on the floor, trying to get her out of his head. He hadn't realised how much room Maggie had taken up in that pretty awful period of his life until he'd told that story.

"I guess I should go," he said at last, standing up quickly.

Walsh followed him towards the door. Before he could flee, she touched his wrist, grasping it lightly between her fingers. Without thinking, he turned around to face her. Her eyes were bright, soft, full of emotion. Seeing her like this made him feel even more vulnerable, even more like running out of that room, but he was rooted to the spot.

"Thank you for telling me all this," she said.

"Did it help?"

Her hand slid down his wrist, along the back of his hand. "I think so."

The gentle brush of her warm fingers against his skin distracted him with different thoughts, thoughts of that alley and her body brushing against his, her lips hot on his mouth. He welcomed the distraction, the change of subject. He didn't want to think about Maggie anymore, and as weird as it seemed, thinking about Walsh took his mind off her.

"I wasn't thinking of her." The words came out unbidden, as if he couldn't hold anything back now that he'd opened the floodgates.

"When you were kissing me?"

"Yeah. At first you reminded me of her, and of stuff that happened when she was around, but... it took me a while, but I can tell the difference now."

"And you still wanted to kiss me?"

Funnily enough, he wanted to more than ever. And that was pretty damn scary, so much so that the other – maybe the more reasonable – part of him still wanted to just run out of that room.

She was very still, her fingers still rubbing on the inside of his wrist, eyes boring into his. He stepped forward, and she stretched up towards him, meeting his lips as he bent to kiss her softly. Everything went still for a moment, he barely dared to breathe, acutely feeling his heart galloping in his chest. Then her lips moved against his, parted, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

At this point he gave in completely, thoughts of running off completely forgotten. He let himself get lost in a passionate, hungry kiss. Her hands soon roamed along his spine and ran through this hair, while his slid under her tank top, along her waist, avidly exploring her bare skin. Somehow, maybe because of the turmoil of emotions he'd just felt so acutely, everything seemed incredibly intense, bordering on desperate.

Before he even knew what they were doing, she was backed against the desk, one of her legs wrapped around his. They ground into each other, each movement making him grow harder, her nails trailing under his t-shirt and driving him wild. All he could think about now was her mouth, her hands, her warm body pressed into his and the ragged sound of their breath.

There was a vibration, a shifting under O'Neill. It felt good at first, but then he lurched forward and then sideways, practically losing his balance. Walsh yelped when he accidentally crushed her thigh against the desk, her fingers digging hard into his back. He managed to stabilise himself with both hands and stared down at her, breathless, dizzy and bewildered. Everything was still again.

"Was that a tremor?" asked Walsh, breathless too.

"Either that or the earth moved for us," he said, straightening and trying to regain some of his dignity.

"You're good, but not that good," she said as she rubbed her leg.

Something about the cool, matter-of-fact tone in her voice cracked him up and he couldn't help but chuckle. She laughed too, pressing her forehead against his chest, still incredibly close to him. When he bent to kiss her again, she moved back a little.

"There are cameras in my room, you know."

He groaned in frustration, and slowly started to disentangle himself from her. "Let's just hope the guys in surveillance don't see this. They'd have a field day."

"That really wasn't something I wanted to think about," she said as he reluctantly stepped away from her, smoothing his hair down.

"Well it was either that or a cold shower." He suspected he was going to need one of those anyway.

"I think I'd have rather gone for the latter," she said with a little smirk.

"Well, uh... I... think I really should go, now," he said. Either he'd start on the deep thoughts again, or he'd do something that would probably end in the court martial.

"Yeah. That was a lot of... of things to process so early in the morning."

"And you don't have to be on an alien planet in a couple hours."

"Just this once, I don't envy you."

"Tired?"

"The fact I was still asleep at half past six is a clue."

"Yeah, that little outing in Sunnydale was a bit taxing. Carter's also staying on base, by the way."

"Oh, so SG-1 will be a pure testosterone squad, then."

"I wish. Dr Lee's tagging along."

She laughed, and he couldn't help but smile. This was getting... comfortable. Now that they'd released some tension with that little discussion, things felt easier somehow. He had no idea where it was going, but was enjoying it.

"All right, well, I'll let you prepare for your ordeal, then," she said. There was still a smile on her face, but he had the distinct impression that the time for flirting was over. Maybe it was just as well, because they'd been damn hasty. Again.

"Thanks. And you... get some rest, yeah?"

"I will."

"Good. Right... so..."

"Yeah."

He smiled at her and slipped out of her room, suddenly just as awkward as he had been when he'd come in. She watched him go; a little jolt went through him when their eyes locked, and then he closed the door behind him and walked away.

Maybe he wasn't good enough to make the earth move for her, but it looked like _she_ was able to shake him up pretty well.


	23. Chapter 23

It was a while until Walsh felt focused enough to leave her room that day. She'd been exhausted after Sunnydale, and although O'Neill's visit – and the coffee he'd brought – had put sleep out of her mind entirely, she hadn't felt like facing the world until late morning.

Her libido was definitely out of hibernation. If someone had told her this would happen a few weeks ago she would never have believed them, especially not with O'Neill. She was still trying not to read too much into their attraction. It could be some remainder of their relationships with each other's alter egos, unfinished business that needed to be settled.

On the other hand, he'd been surprisingly forthcoming with her. He'd made a real effort to talk to her, to tell her the rather sad story of his relationship with Maggie, to try and convince her there wasn't anything on with Carter. It seemed more than just memories. It felt like he was trying to set things straight before starting something new. That thought was a little unsettling, though, so she preferred to keep to her nice rational theory about unfinished business.

The relationship O'Neill had described with Maggie wasn't all that different from what she had experienced with Jack in the early years. She'd started bickering with her Jack in interviews and random occasions on-base, and things between them had escalated on the very first mission they'd been on together. It had felt irresistible, even though he was married, even though it was forbidden.

They'd still kept their distance, emotionally and physically. They'd never even gone all the way until he was divorced – not that it made the cheating more acceptable. But even after the divorce and his retirement, their relationship had remained one of those that never get a label, a complicated mixture of friendship, sex, and untold feelings. He'd never really been available for her, not between the job, his wife, and his grief after Charlie's death.

It wasn't like the situation was terribly different now. Walsh hadn't checked the regulations yet, but if this dimension was the same as hers, relationships between military personnel and civilian collaborators had started to come under scrutiny in the past year or two. They were tolerated as long as the people involved weren't in the same chain of command, but it was still walking on eggshells. And since she lived on-base, intimacy was pretty much impossible. Whatever was going on between them wasn't going to go very far and the usual safe distance would be preserved.

"Out of your room at last?"

Walsh was jerked out of her thoughts by the sudden question. Janet had poked her head around the door and was smiling at her.

"Yes, it took me a while," said Walsh, pushing aside the report she was supposed to be annotating, and had been staring at blankly while her mind wandered.

Janet entered Walsh's office and came closer. She'd probably just returned from her lunch break. "Are you okay? You look a little gloomy."

Walsh realised that she must have been scowling, and schooled her expression into something more neutral. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Is your throat hurting?" asked Janet.

"Let's just say I'm glad to be on painkillers." Her throat was still throbbing; without the pills to take the edge off, Walsh knew it would be very unpleasant.

"Ah, I can imagine. Give it some time." Janet settled down on the seat opposite Walsh. "So, I kind of feel jealous I wasn't there to see... well, all of it."

"Disappointed we didn't bring you back a live specimen?" Walsh asked with a small smile.

Janet laughed softly. "Well yeah, I guess. And Sam said they saw magic."

"Yes, she told me."

"Well, aren't you curious to find out more about it?"

"I think my curiosity can have a few days off after..." She had to stop and cast about for a word that would express the strange and harrowing and exciting things she'd experienced in Sunnydale. "Let's just say I found out a lot of things within a few hours. Not necessarily things I wanted to know."

"Yeah?"

"Unsettling information about my alter ego. They left me some of her diaries. And, well, we ran into Riley Finn... he used to be her protégé and he had a few home truths for me. Then there was the vampire, and the CAT scan of his head."

"You saw where the chip was?"

"I have an idea, but since I didn't actually get to open his skull, it wasn't much use. On the other hand, I'm not a brain surgeon so I guess it was better that way."

"Yeah. And I'm pretty sure the military will come to you if they ever think you could pick up where Professor Walsh left off."

"Can't wait," Walsh muttered drily, reaching for a bottle of water.

A strange dizzy, trembling sensation went through Walsh all of a sudden. The water in her bottle splashed upwards and spilled over her BDU shirt, and she heard the spoon in her empty coffee cup jingle rhythmically for a moment.

Then everything went still. She looked up at Janet, who was staring back at her, her hand instinctively gripping the edge of the desk.

"Uh... did something just..?"

"Another tremor," Walsh said quietly, scanning the room in case there was any damage. Everything seemed safe enough.

"What?" Janet looked around her too. "What do you mean, another?"

Walsh reached for a tissue and started to dab at her shirt. "Didn't you feel it? The first one?"

Janet shook her head. "When did it happen?"

Walsh regretted bringing it up, but it was too late to back out. "It must have been around... seven or half past seven this morning."

"I must have still been home. Didn't feel a thing, neither did Cassie."

Walsh frowned. "That's strange. It was stronger than this one. Perhaps it didn't spread as far as your home."

"Was there any damage?"

"Not that I know of. You'd probably have been informed if there had been."

"Then how could you tell it was stronger this morning?"

"Well, the fact I nearly lost my balance was a clue."

A little prickle down Walsh's spine signalled that she was taking risks. She shouldn't really be talking about this. On the other hand, these earthquakes were quite worrying; in Walsh's experience Cheyenne mountain had never had tremors without it being related in some way to the Stargate.

"Are you sure it wasn't just an aftershock from the antidepressant withdrawal?" asked Janet. "I wouldn't be surprised if some symptoms came back after so much stress and made you a little dizzy."

"I'm sure," Walsh said flatly.

Janet raised her eyebrows at her, with the look of a doctor who thinks they know better than their patient. Walsh knew that expression well, because she wore it quite frequently. It was annoying when the boot was on the other foot.

"I was with Colonel O'Neill when it happened," said Walsh after careful consideration. "He felt it too."

At least it wasn't a lie. She didn't want to lie to Janet, although she couldn't risk O'Neill's reputation by telling her the whole truth. From Janet's slightly bemused facial expression, Walsh got the distinct impression that it was too late, that she'd made her curious.

"At seven in the morning?"

"He wanted to talk before he left."

Janet shot her an incredulous look.

Walsh rolled her eyes, mostly to hide that she could feel a blush tingling over her chest and throat. "When I was in Sunnydale, I found out some things about his relationship with the other Maggie, and we needed to sort some things out."

"Really? The last I heard, the two of you got in a fighting match over some dog tag story."

"Yeah, well, we're over that," Walsh said, taking a sip from her bottle. She didn't like the knowing looks Janet was giving her.

"Right. Good." There was something thoughtful and pointed about Janet's tone that was making Walsh feel more and more ill at ease.

"What do you make of the tremors, though," she said in a rather pathetic attempt to get back to the subject at hand. "It's not something you get much in the region. Do you think they're looking into it?"

"I couldn't say, nobody mentioned it until you did, but that kind of event usually gets at least some interest from the scientists on base. The last time we had any kind of seismic activity was when the other gate was being activated."

Walsh nodded. "I was thinking about that. Could the other gate be active?"

"I wouldn't have thought so."

"Do you know where the other gate is, at the moment?"

Janet opened her mouth, then paused. Of course. There were still a lot of things that Walsh wasn't allowed to know about.

"Ah, it's all right," said Walsh before Janet could say anything. "I shouldn't have asked. Old habits."

"So you guys also found the other gate? In your dimension?"

"We did."

"Did anyone get stuck in Antarctica?"

Walsh shivered as the memory raced through her mind. The ice, that cavern. Jack barely holding on to a thread, and Carter not far behind him. The chopper back to the nearest base, his icy fingers, worrying for hours with Daniel that he might still die of the combination of hypothermia and internal injuries... and most of all, not being able to hold him afterwards, because they'd decided to stop doing that, to keep it all professional.

"Jack and Carter," she said at last. "We were lucky to have found them when we did."

"Same happened here. It's really like they have nine lives."

"Yes, it is. Until they don't anymore." The words came out sharp, with an emotional edge that she couldn't control.

"I'm sorry," said Janet.

"Ah, I didn't mean to sound so dramatic," Walsh answered. "I just have a lot of memories still knocking about in my head at the moment."

"And I guess Colonel O'Neill isn't helping you to forget them."

Walsh raised her eyebrows, hoping that the flush that suddenly burned in her cheeks wasn't too visible. Janet was much too shrewd.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to it," said Janet after what seemed like an eternity of silence. "Back to the grindstone."

Walsh managed to smile at her. "Yeah, I have to get back on this report, too."

Janet said her goodbyes and left Walsh wondering how obvious she'd been and how much Janet had guessed from their conversation. If she wasn't careful – or if she was unlucky, considering that the morning's encounter had most likely been filmed – the news was going to spread on base like wildfire. And then the General might have to do something about it, and she couldn't imagine it would be pleasant for her or O'Neill.

* * *

Kawalsky kept to himself, surveying the forest around them. It was a damn big forest and apparently there were some pretty interesting beasties in there... if by "interesting", you meant vicious and lethal.

He couldn't even remember why they needed Jackson and Lee to analyse the big blocks of whatever the hell it was on this planet, but SG-1 sure did need backup to keep an eye on the woods surrounding them. So while the scientists bickered, all the rest of them walked that fine line between boredom and paranoia.

He cocked his gun when he heard movement in the bushes, and breathed a sigh of relief when O'Neill emerged.

"Kawalsky."

"Eh, sorry Colonel. I thought you were one of those furry things." O'Neill smirked very slightly at that, and Kawalsky's face split into a sheepish grin. "Okay that didn't sound right."

"Seen anything around here lately?" asked O'Neill.

"Nope. I think they come out more at night, but you can never be too safe."

"Huh. Mind if I hang around here for a while? The kids up there are giving me a headache."

"You're the boss, sir."

His professional relationship with Jack had always been complicated. Well, Kawalsky obeyed and respected him, sure, that was a given. But they were also very good friends, and other things. Basically, their relationship had barely been within the regs at the best of times, and pretty illegal most of the time.

But this wasn't his Jack, and he had to remind himself of that all the time, constantly stop himself from being overly familiar. He didn't even know what kind of relationship this O'Neill and the other Kawalsky had shared. No need for a big fork in the road to make a hell of a difference, as the thing with Walsh had proved.

"Kind of weird, isn't it?" Kawalsky said after quietly watching the forest for a while.

"What's weird?"

"Well, the difference between... how things are in different dimensions, you know? I guess I can't act with you the way I used to with..."

"Ugh, Kawalsky, please," O'Neill interrupted abruptly. "I've had that conversation a thousand times about Walsh already and I still don't know what to make of it, okay?"

He was practically whining at this point. Which was good, really, because Jack didn't whine if he didn't feel comfortable, so Kawalsky supposed he must be doing something right.

"Sorry Colonel."

"Huh. I hadn't heard you call me that in a long time. I mean the other you."

Well, that was unexpected. O'Neill had been pretty closed and uptight so far, but Kawalsky was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"So, uh, I assume you were good friends then? I mean, Jack and I were."

"Was his son called Charlie?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's probably all I need to know about your relationship with him."

Kawalsky felt a tension drain from him that he hadn't realised was there. Somehow... well, it wasn't the same Jack, sure. But this was close enough, close enough for that spark of trust to be comforting.

There was a noise in the woods, and both of them had their P90s ready within a split second. A moment later, something that looked like a rabbit – or at least hopped like one – barrelled through the woods and was gone in a flash.

"Should've shot it," said Kawalsky. "Looks like it would have been tasty in a stew."

"Only if you weren't the one cooking it."

"At least I don't burn everything I cook."

"A bit of charcoal is good for your digestion, didn't anyone ever tell you that?"

Kawalsky chuckled. "I'll always remember that time we were all stuck on some ocean planet and you couldn't catch a fish to save your life. Feretti finally got one and you sulked for hours."

"Well I definitely don't remember that."

Which was pretty obvious since Kawalsky had died after his first mission in this dimension. "Ah. Sorry."

"No it's... kinda cool to know about my other adventures. In a freaky sort of way of course."

"Yeah, I read quite a few mission reports and it was fun to see all the differences. Like that thing with the caveman regression."

"Did you turn into a caveman too?"

"Sure did."

"How could they tell the difference?"

Kawalsky snickered and looked at O'Neill, who was smirking quietly, his eyes glinting with mischief. Funny how he really was pretty much the same guy as the one Kawalsky had known. Especially funny considering how much of a royal ass he'd been to them when they'd arrived in this dimension. Then again, their Jack was quite capable of being an ass. The way he'd got himself killed had proved it.

"You know Carter and Walsh fought over you? When they were cavewomen, I mean." Kawalsky knew it would make O'Neill damn uncomfortable but he was too curious to see how he'd react.

O'Neill gave a sort of embarrassed wince. "Carter tried it with me, and it was difficult enough to wrestle her off."

"Oh yeah, I had to come to your rescue. I mean Jack's. Ugh, pronouns."

"I know, right?"

"Walsh can keep them straight but I guess that's what happens when you're trained in mind games."

"See, that's exactly why I didn't trust her."

Kawalsky duly noted O'Neill's use of the past tense. "Yeah and it was exactly why Jack relied on her back there."

"Huh. I suppose it couldn't have hurt to have a medic on the team. If you're gonna work with three damn doctors, might as well at least be one who can stitch you up."

"Speaking of, I heard Carter got hazed when you guys were in Sunnydale."

"I think the word you're looking for is tortured."

"C'mon, how many stitches did Walsh have to put in?"

"Twelve."

"And you never got twelve stitches without an anaesthetic?"

"Sure I have. Torture."

"You're exaggerating and you know it."

And Kawalsky knew it too. Because Jack had been tortured, and although Kawalsky didn't know the details, he was pretty damn sure those Iraqi bastards had done more than a few sutures. He didn't know if the same had happened to this Jack, of course, but he couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Maybe a little. I still don't like it."

"Well sure, I guess, she's a woman."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Carter's as tough as you and I. But she's part of my team and she got hurt cause I didn't get there in time to stop it from happening. And so did Walsh."

"Okay okay, sorry," Kawalsky said hurriedly. Yeah, the exaggerated "don't leave anyone behind" attitude _definitely_ proved that this O'Neill had been stuck in Iraq too.

"Did you speak with Walsh since she got back?"

"Huh?" Kawalsky hadn't expected O'Neill to mention her spontaneously. "No, not really. I tried to check on her last night but I think she was sleeping."

"Yeah, it was a little intense. We bumped into Finn."

"Finn, really? Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. Then she and Carter got kidnapped by this guy with a grudge against her."

"So I guess she won't be going back to Cali anytime soon."

"I guess not."

Kawalsky cast a sidelong look at Jack and thought hard about whether or not he was going to say what he was going to say. It was risky.

"So, uh... last time I had a proper talk with Walsh, you'd had some kind of fight with her about dog tags."

O'Neill frowned at him. "Yeah?"

"D'you still think she's some psycho freak?" He asked it as casually as he could.

O'Neill just shrugged. "How long have you known her, again?"

"Dunno, since the eighties, on and off. Jack and I worked with her on a few missions."

"And apparently you trust her."

"Hasn't given me a reason not to, so far. I mean sure she keeps stuff close to her chest, but isn't that kind of the point, in Black Ops?"

"I suppose so."

Huh, O'Neill being reasonable about Walsh. Well, that was progress. Or perhaps a miracle. Kawalsky didn't know what had happened to change things like this, but he wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

"Well, we always knew she had a heart under the hard-ass attitude. She got real worried when something happened to someone in the team. Not as openly as Carter and Daniel did, but... we could tell."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Believe me."

"And she helped Carter when she was in trouble, back in Sunnydale. She didn't really have to do that."

"Wouldn't expect anything else from her."

"I would, but I guess that's where Walsh is different from... the other one." There was this ominous pause at "the other one". Kawalsky longed to ask about her, but O'Neill turned to him before he could say anything. "So the other SG-1... they really were a tight-knit team?"

"Yeah, definitely. Though I'm not sure how Jack could stand all the girl power feminist stuff when the ladies teamed up on him, though. And when I say the ladies, I kinda want to include Jackson in there."

"You've always been such a pig about that," said O'Neill, but it was affectionate.

"Ah, you know what I mean, though, right?"

O'Neill smirked at him. "All I know is you're the one who always gets lectured by women. Maybe you should ask yourself why."

Kawalsky laughed. It was such a Jack thing to say, he'd had this conversation a dozen times already with his own Jack. They had different approaches with women, hell, they had different approaches on most things, and it was part of the fun.

"Whatever. But yeah, they got along. I think everyone was particularly close to Jackson."

"Who isn't?"

"Yeah I know, he's got this knack for getting everybody to like him."

"While at the same time being a total little shit."

"I guess it's part of the appeal. Maggie was so cut up when we had to leave him on Apophis' ship. He got shot by a staff weapon and she thought she could fix him, but we didn't have time. We practically had to bodily remove her."

"Dedicated."

"Fucking stubborn, you mean."

"So you also went onto Apophis' ship? That time he was coming to destroy the earth?"

"Yeah."

"Weird. I can't imagine how it would have gone without Teal'c and Bra'tac to help us."

That was a little insulting. "Well, we still managed."

"Did you guys also get saved by the space shuttle?"

"The what?" Kawalsky laughed. "You were saved by the space shuttle?" God that was hilarious.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Kawalsky said hurriedly, stifling his laughter. "No, we just flew back in gliders. Well... we kind of crash landed in the desert near Area 51 but overall we didn't do so bad. How the hell did you get saved by the shuttle?"

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Our gliders got nuked when we blew up the Goa'uld ship. We'd have burned up in earth's atmosphere if we hadn't been... collected."

Kawalsky couldn't help grinning. "So I guess there is a use for those things after all."

That earned him a glare from O'Neill. "Any more humiliating stories from your dimension?"

"Well, did you hear about the time Jack and Maggie accidentally swapped bodies?"

O'Neill face-palmed with a groan, and Kawalsky watched, grinning from ear to ear. It really was like having his friend back. Maybe it was an illusion but it felt damn good, and Kawalsky wasn't one to worry too much about the future. Especially not when the present was pretty cool.


	24. Chapter 24

Carter wasn't in the best of moods that morning.

First, she was miffed because she was stuck on-base for at least a week, perhaps more, for a stupid sprained ankle. That would have been a minor blip under other circumstances – although she wasn't keen on forced downtime in general – but she'd put a lot of time and effort into preparing the mission that Dr Lee was now overseeing in her place. She'd been looking forward to that mission.

And then there was everything that had happened in Sunnydale. Seeing magic, being attacked by vampires and demons – all of that really messed with the way she saw the world. Daniel had said they existed, but it hadn't felt real. It still kind of felt unreal.

She could handle aliens just fine. She'd been held hostage, she'd been tortured – getting sutures without an anaesthetic was nothing compared to Goa'uld torture rods – but somehow it was different when it came from creatures whose existence she could explain. The same thing coming from supernatural creatures living on earth was much more unsettling.

Okay, it _was_ pretty fascinating that the Earth was populated with beings that made up the stuff of myths, even though it made her uneasy. With time, she might be able to figure out how she felt about all that. But in the meantime it was confusing, and she wasn't even supposed to talk about it with people who weren't in the know. Thank goodness Janet was in the know.

Carter took a deep breath, then a long sip of tea. Lunchtime was coming up, and being hungry didn't really help with the crankiness. Perhaps a good dose of comfort food would cheer her up.

Besides, there was a bright side to this. It wasn't like she had nothing interesting to do.

She was in charge of analysing the funerary urn they'd brought back from Sunnydale, and had been working alongside Dr Balinsky, a civilian archaeologist who was hoping to join an SG-team some day. They'd completed their research and had spent the morning writing up their reports – General Hammond was going to come by so that they could talk about their findings. As for the urn, it was still sitting on Carter's desk. She didn't really like it to be there and couldn't wait for it to be put somewhere safe.

There had also been some slight tremors over the past day or so. They ranged from the barely noticeable to some visible shaking and rattling of objects – significant ones were estimated to be between 2 and 3.5 on the Richter scale. Nothing alarming, but still unusual, especially as the epicentre seemed to be in Cheyenne mountain. She hadn't had time to look into it, too busy with the urn, but checking in on that was next on her to-do list. So far the people who had been working on it hadn't managed to link it with the Stargate or any discernible threat, but it still piqued her curiosity.

And if the worst came to the worst and Carter actually got bored, she reminded herself that she could always take a look at the plans for the modified zat device that was supposed to help remove Goa'ulds from their hosts. According to Walsh, the Carter from her dimension had helped elaborate the device, so it made sense for Carter to try and contribute. Of course, Walsh would be working on it too, and that might be kind of awkward.

Which brought her to another reason to be irritable.

What the vampire had said had just confirmed what Carter had suspected about Walsh and the Colonel. And it chafed. She had to admit to herself that it chafed, even if she wouldn't admit it to anybody else.

Ever since she and the Colonel had been forced to voice their feelings in front of the za'tarc detector – although the revelations had been vague enough for there to be room for interpretation – her imagination had been doing overtime about what could be. The fact that they'd got kinda close while their minds had been altered on P3R-118 hadn't helped put those feelings aside, either.

But at the end of the day, feelings or not, the relationship was impossible or at least terribly impractical. And in any case, the Colonel was allowed to have a life, and so was she. Perhaps if he was showing interest in someone else, it would make it easier for Carter to stop daydreaming. She sure hoped so.

In any case, it was going to take a while for her to process everything that had happened in Sunnydale. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that the rest of the team was away for a while, in the end. She'd already had a day to work through things; perhaps when the Colonel returned she'd manage to be just a little less awkward around him.

Carter set her mind back into a more professional frame of thought when General Hammond came into her office, followed by Balinsky. She automatically sprung up to her feet and regretted it as soon as her sprained ankle rewarded her with shooting pain.

"At ease, Major," the General said with a sympathetic smile, and she gratefully sank back into her seat. "I hear you have some news for us."

"Yes sir. We thoroughly analysed the urn, and as we suspected it contains a Goa'uld symbiote." She showed the General the results of their CAT scan on her computer screen.

"Yeah the design of the urn is similar to the canopic jars they used to imprison Isis and Osiris," said Balinsky.

"Although the materials they used aren't exactly the same," said Carter. "At least as far as we can tell without opening it."

She launched into a more detailed explanation about their findings – including materials, mechanism of action, and other things – even though the General may not fully understand nor care. Balinsky filled in the gaps, explaining things Daniel had already touched upon about the language on the urn, his insights on what the paintings represented and so on. The General listened quietly.

"So you're saying there's a symbiote in here that may be Gaia," said the General at last.

"That's what it seems to say on the urn, sir," said Balinsky.

"And in what state is this symbiote?" asked the General.

"It's in stasis, but it's definitely alive," said Carter.

"We're still waiting for carbon dating results," said Balinsky. "But I suspect it's been in that urn for over three thousand years."

"Very well. We'll have it shipped to Area 51 as soon as possible. I'm sure the people in research and development over there will know what to do with it."

"Maybe we should also look into what else they found in this dig in Delphi," said Carter. "You never know, there could be more urns."

"I'm on that," said Balinsky.

"Good. Major, do you still need to study the urn?"

"No, sir, I think we've done as much as we could in this facility."

The General nodded. "All right. I'll have it brought somewhere more secure, we don't want such a dangerous artefact out in the open like this."

"Yes, sir," said Carter gratefully.

He walked out into the corridor and she heard a muffled conversation along the lines of "just the man I was looking for". The General returned followed by Sergeant Siler.

"Sergeant, I'd like you to pack this up with the utmost care and take it to Level 16 for safekeeping."

"Yes sir," said Siler, moving towards the table where Carter had left the urn and the padded metal box that they'd kept it in.

"So how's the ankle, Major?" asked Hammond.

"Not too bad, sir," said Carter with a small smile.

"Good. I hear you'll be with us on base for the next–"

The ground shook violently. There were gasps, muffled curses. Carter's chair skidded beneath her. The lights flickered, and a horrible lurch made her lose her balance. As she half-fell, half-dropped under her desk, Carter caught a glimpse of the urn in Siler's hands. The light went out entirely, and she blinked hard, trying to shake the vision of the urn surrounded with a faint golden light that reminded her of Mr Giles' spell.

Carter grabbed at the legs of her desk as the vibrations seemed to become even more intense. There was an anguished groan, and the noise of someone scuffling towards the door. Something metallic clattered to the ground near her, books fell off shelves and then she heard a sound that made the breath catch in her throat. The sound of shattering ceramic. She prayed that it was the mug on her desk, and not something else.

"I dropped the urn!" shouted Siler.

"Oh Jesus fuck," moaned Balinsky.

"Everybody watch yourselves!" shouted Hammond.

Carter swiftly moved out from under the desk, although it was dangerous and she couldn't see very much in the dark. The overhead neons were jingling threateningly on their chains, but if a Goa'uld had got out there was no way in hell she was lying on the floor and giving it easy access to her neck. Carter stumbled towards the closest wall and stood against it, heart pounding.

After what seemed like an eternity, the auxiliary lighting came on. She wasn't sure how long they'd been in the dark but it couldn't be more than a minute, perhaps less. The tremors turned to a vibration, then disappeared as abruptly as they'd started.

Siler was standing in the middle of the room, looking stunned and horrified. Balinsky was under a desk, but shot out as soon as the light came on, hitting his head in the process. The General was standing against the main entrance, but the door was open a crack.

There wasn't any sign of the symbiote. The urn was broken, though, Carter could see liquid oozing out of it. Suspicious traces painted moist lines on the floor, but the auxiliary lighting was too dim for her to see a clear trail.

"Is it out? Is it?!" Balinsky's voice had gone high pitched with anxiety.

Siler cautiously approached the urn and prodded it with his foot until it flipped over. There was a gaping hole beneath it.

"I think so," said Siler in a trembling voice. He didn't look like he wanted to bend over and check.

The General swiftly hit the alarm button and the whole base resounded with the klaxon blare.

"Attention to all personnel," he said into the PA system, his voice echoing loud through the entire base. "We have a Goa'uld symbiote loose on Level 19. This level is off limits until we find it. I repeat we have a symbiote on the loose. This is not an exercise."

"General?" Walsh hurried into the room. The General pulled a gun on her. Her eyes went wide and she immediately raised her hands, taking several steps back.

"Stay where you are," he said levelly. "We have no idea where that snake has got to."

All Carter knew was that it wasn't in her. Well... she was pretty sure, anyhow. She ran her hand over the back of her neck several times and there were no wounds of any kind. And she would have felt it if it had gone into her mouth, she was pretty sure of that.

"I'm going to check on everyone on this level. Stay in your offices. Dr. Walsh, in there." The General gestured towards her with his gun. Walsh didn't argue, she stepped into the office just as Hammond hurried out and closed the door behind him.

The four of them were silent. Balinsky's eyes were bulging with fear, and Siler had retreated into a corner, still scanning the room, breathing heavily. Walsh was doing the same thing, her back to the door.

"Did anyone see where it went?" said Walsh at last. Her tone was calm and commanding.

"No ma'am," said Siler. "The lights were off when I... when... when the urn broke."

"Maybe I can detect the Goa'uld's presence," said Carter. She wasn't proud to admit that her legs were trembling a little, and not just because of the sprained ankle.

"We need to check you first," said Walsh. "It could be in any one of us. Which of you are armed?"

"Why should we tell you?" asked Carter. She was starting to get irked by the way Walsh was just taking control of the situation. If anyone had seniority in the room it was her.

"I'm just trying to assess the situation, Major."

"Yeah well don't. I'm in charge here. Now all of you give me a moment, I need to work this out."

Everyone went quiet, which made the sound of Balinsky's sharp, panicked breathing even more obvious.

Walsh had raised a valid point, though. Who was armed? Walsh didn't get to carry weapons. Balinsky probably wasn't armed either, civilian collaborators didn't usually carry weapons around with them. Siler might well be, and Carter had her Beretta in a drawer close at hand.

Now how could they figure out who was or wasn't infected? Truth be told, Carter didn't entirely trust her ability to sense a Goa'uld. And what if she'd been infected without realising it, and the Goa'uld was hiding from her? She didn't exhibit any of the symptoms, but when Jolinar had taken over, Carter had barely understood what had happened. Still, the chances seemed remote.

Carter looked around the room for something, anything, that could be useful. Her eyes fell on the portable ultrasound device she'd borrowed for their trip to Sunnydale. Thank god she hadn't returned it to Level 21 yet.

"Okay, this is what we're going to do. Walsh, you see the case over there?" She pointed towards the machine.

Walsh looked at it. "Is that an ultrasound machine?"

"Yeah. Do you think you can perform a scan on yourself?"

"Definitely."

"Okay, then you go ahead and set it up."

Walsh did as she was told while Siler and Balinsky looked at each other and back towards Walsh and Carter. Everyone was getting paranoid of the others, and Balinsky looked pale and clammy and could barely stand still. Carter wondered about both of them – they'd been standing in very exposed positions, and Siler had been very close to the urn. The sooner everyone was scanned, the better.

Walsh made quick work of setting up the ultrasound. The screen was really small, though, and Carter couldn't see a thing from where she was standing.

"Do you know how to hook it up to a computer screen?" asked Carter.

"Shouldn't be a problem," said Walsh, and she set about connecting it to the closest computer monitor. Everyone watched her fumble around until the ultrasound's display showed up on the screen.

"Okay, now I want a thorough scan of your spinal cord," said Carter.

Walsh applied the contact gel over the back of her neck and soon had the probe in hand, pressed against the top of her spine. Carter struggled a little to make out what she was seeing. It was one thing to figure out the contents of an urn, and quite another to understand medical imagery. But soon Carter recognised the shape of Walsh's cervical vertebrae, stark white against the adjacent tissues.

"Can you give me another angle?" Carter asked.

Walsh complied, moving the probe so that Carter had several views of the top of her spinal cord. Everything looked right. At least Carter knew exactly what to look for. When a Goa'uld was attached to its host, its tiny spine wrapped around its victim's vertebrae in a pretty obvious way.

"All right, you're clear," said Carter at last. "Now could you scan Balinsky?"

Walsh nodded and motioned towards Balinsky. He came forward nervously, sat down where Walsh told him to, and shivered and flinched his way through the ultrasound. Walsh was silent, watching the screen intently until every angle had been covered.

"He's fine," she said.

"Siler, do you have a weapon?" Carter asked.

"Uh... yeah, ma'am, I have my revolver on me."

"Give it to Balinsky while Dr Walsh scans you."

Balinsky got out of his seat and hurried away. Siler gave him his weapon on passing, then settled down in front of Walsh.

"Balinsky, if you see Siler try to attack in any way, you can shoot him," Carter said.

"What? Me? Why won't you do it? It's not exactly my speciality..."

"Because we haven't cleared her yet," said Walsh coolly.

"That's right," said Carter. "Just keep an eye on them."

Walsh proceeded to probe all along Siler's neck. He watched the screen with her, his face stoical but the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard betraying how worried he was.

"You're good too, Siler," said Walsh after a while.

Siler let out a long sigh of relief and hopped out of his seat.

Okay. Now Carter was starting to feel nervous. It was a good thing that the symbiote hadn't got into any of the others, but now she really hoped it hadn't found its way into her. She'd been on the ground when the urn had broken, after all...

Carter got up and took a step towards Walsh.

"Are you armed?" asked Walsh.

"No." Carter turned around and raised her BDU jacket to show that she wasn't carrying a weapon.

"Maybe Siler should get his weapon back, Balinsky seems a little nervous."

Carter turned to the other two, suddenly remembering they were there. She'd been so focused on getting scanned that she hadn't really been thinking about anything else.

"Uh, yeah. Siler, you know what to do if my eyes start glowing."

"Yes ma'am," said Siler, getting the weapon from Balinsky. At least his hands weren't visibly shaking.

Carter took a deep breath and sat down in front of Walsh. She tried to repress a shiver when Walsh applied the cold sticky gel to her neck, and kept still while she pressed the probe against her skin. The screen displayed Carter's spine. At first glance, it looked okay.

Walsh did the other side, and all was well.

"We're all clear," Walsh announced. Balinsky let out a loud groan of relief and let himself drop to the floor.

"Could it still be in here?" asked Walsh.

"What?!" Balinsky jumped up to his feet again.

"I guess so," said Carter. "But I can't feel any kind of presence."

"Maybe we should do a sweep of the room."

And there she went again, behaving like she was in charge. But Carter didn't have the heart to contradict her. She was right, and on some level being with someone who obviously knew what they were doing was comforting.

"Yeah, we should," said Carter. "Siler, with me. Walsh, you keep an eye on Balinsky."

Carter retrieved her Beretta from the drawer. Then, weapons at the ready, Carter and Siler cautiously moved around the room, scanning for any kind of movement, peering into any crevice. There weren't many places a symbiote could hide, and their time outside of a host was very limited.

"Can't see anything, ma'am," said Siler.

"Me neither. I think we're safe."

"What about General Hammond?"

Carter turned to Walsh. "What about him?"

"He was with you when it got out, right?"

Oh god. Carter just stared at her as the realisation hit. Was it possible, could she have missed that? He'd left so quickly and he hadn't been standing quite far away from her... far enough for her not to be able to sense the symbiote, perhaps.

"If it's in him," said Walsh, "it might be trying to get out through the gate."

Carter hurried out, followed by Walsh and Siler. The corridor was deserted, everyone was no doubt locked up in their offices after the announcement, all as paranoid as they'd been just a few minutes earlier. Why hadn't she thought of the General? He'd seemed so normal, he'd sounded the alarm and behaved exactly like she would have expected him to. If he wasn't infected, they were going against a direct order. Still, it was worth checking out.

When they got to the elevators and hit the button, nothing happened. It made sense, the General would have had the elevator disabled to prevent the symbiote travelling between levels.

"Carter," said Walsh, nodding ahead.

Carter immediately saw what Walsh was indicating. The door to the access ladder leading to the other levels was cracked open. It was barely visible, but enough for Carter to suspect it had been used.

Carter grabbed the nearest phone and dialled the Gate Room. There was no reply. Crap.

"He might have already got to the Gate Room," she said. And what was worse, her twisted ankle was not going to serve her well going down nine levels on a small ladder.

"Time is of the essence, Major," said Walsh impatiently.

"I know!" She really hated having to do this, but she didn't see any other solution. "Siler, Walsh, go down and stop him by any means necessary. I'll try to remotely block the gate."

"I'm unarmed," Walsh pointed out.

Carter sighed and handed her the revolver. At this point she didn't have any other choice but to trust her.


	25. Chapter 25

It had all been going so well. O'Neill had been expecting a quiet, boring mission making sure Daniel and the other geeks didn't get hurt. He'd even been enjoying himself, shooting the breeze with Kawalsky. Too good to be true.

The things that were lurking in the forest really did wake up at nightfall. SG-8 had seen them already, but what they hadn't banked on was that the nasty critters would come back with damn reinforcements. They were fast. They were _everywhere_. The sheer mass of them meant that a P-90 barely made a dent in the horde of rodents.

So they'd run for their lives, followed by things that looked like giant beavers with long incisors and claws like gardening trowels. SG-8's Lieutenant Palmer had got his leg mauled and they'd had to drag him up to the gate. O'Neill stayed at the gate, made sure everyone was through, shooting at the writhing mass of furry bodies to keep it at bay.

Teal'c arrived last, sending a blast at the creatures with his zat gun. Somehow this seemed to enrage them even more and they surged forward. O'Neill rushed through the gate, Teal'c on his heels. He damn well hoped those things wouldn't follow them through.

The trip home wasn't exactly as expected. He'd had turbulent rides but this one reminded him frighteningly of the time he'd landed in Antarctica. O'Neill all but shot out the other side, rolled down the ramp, and – just as he was congratulating himself for not hitting his head – got flattened on the concrete floor by Teal'c barrelling out after him.

The iris didn't close behind them. That was the first thing that O'Neill's dazed mind registered. There were furious rodents behind them and the iris was still open. Teal'c dragged himself off of O'Neill, who pulled himself up, opened his mouth to shout at Walter, and realised that the control room was empty.

And that Walsh and Hammond were standing face to face near the entrance to the gate room, pointing guns at each other. He'd been gone for twenty-four hours and he came back to this – just when he was starting to trust her, too! He hoped there was a damn good explanation.

The gate disengaged with a whoosh behind them. Thank god for small mercies.

"What's going on, sir?" asked O'Neill, with a sinking feeling in his belly. Everyone else was silent.

"The General has been taken host by a Goa'uld," Walsh said quickly, her eyes still trained on Hammond.

"She's lying," said Hammond levelly. "The urn broke and the symbiote got into her. She attacked Sergeant Siler."

O'Neill realised that Siler was crumpled against the far wall, behind Walsh. There was blood; it looked like he'd been shot. His glasses lay shattered on the ground.

"Siler, you okay?" he called, but Siler was out for the count.

And that meant he had to make the call, and he had no way of knowing what had gone on previously.

"Okay, why don't you put down your weapons, both of you. Then we can sort this out with Doctor Fraiser."

Neither moved. Of course they didn't. And he'd kind of given an order to the General, which really wasn't going to be good for his career if it turned out Walsh was the one with a snake in her head. He glanced at Teal'c.

Teal'c, with his usual poise, cocked his zat gun and shot each of them in turn. Walsh and Hammond both folded over and fell to the floor.

"Well... that'll work too," said O'Neill. "Kawalsky, Teal'c, get their weapons and secure them. Daniel, call in the medics."

Now that his most urgent problem had been solved, and that the dizziness after their rough trip was starting to ease, O'Neill started to realise just how bad this situation was. Whichever of Hammond or Walsh was compromised, it was going to suck big time.

They did have the Tok'ra who would probably help if they could make time in their busy schedule. Of course, if Walsh was infected, he was pretty sure they'd take as much time as possible before bothering to show up. People in Area 51 would have a field day experimenting on her in the meantime.

The thought was gross and scary, but it kept his mind off thinking about the General. He didn't want to let himself imagine what would happen if Hammond was infected and if they couldn't get the snake out in time. The whole Stargate program would be in jeopardy, just for starters.

"Colonel!" Carter had just rushed – as much as she could with a limp – into the control room and called him over the PA system.

"Carter, care to fill me in?" he shouted back at her.

"I think General Hammond's been compromised, sir. The Goa'uld we picked up in Sunnydale could be inside of him."

And the sinking feeling was back in his stomach. "You sure?"

"Well... I sent Walsh and Siler to find him. Last I saw them, we'd scanned them and they were clear."

Which meant that the Goa'uld could have jumped into either of them in the meantime.

Carter took in their limp bodies. "Are they okay?"

"Walsh and Hammond will be fine, dunno about Siler."

"He's alive," called out Daniel. "I think he hit his head and he took a bullet to the shoulder."

"Why's the med team taking so long?" snapped O'Neill. "We need to get all three of them examined. And where the hell are the Marines when you need them?"

"The elevators were blocked, sir, I only just–"

Carter stopped when Makepeace and a bunch of Marines burst into the Gate Room, followed by medics. At long last.

"Where were your men?" O'Neill barked at Makepeace while people carted out Walsh, Hammond and Siler. Kawalsky helped Palmer out towards the infirmary.

"General Hammond ordered us to secure all exits," said Makepiece drily.

"All except the gate? And you didn't think it was a little bit weird?"

"He said he'd make sure the gate was secure!"

"Like hell it was! We found Hammond and Walsh facing off in here!"

"Walter's been wounded sir," said Carter as she joined them in the gate room. "Someone threw him right across the control room."

"Secure, my ass," snarled O'Neill at Makepeace.

"And someone tried to dial out," continued Carter, "but I was able to shut it down remotely. Then you gated in and blocked their exit."

"Well at least that's something. What about our rough landing?"

"There was a strong tremor when your wormhole engaged. We still don't know what's causing them."

Yet another problem. He had to put that one aside for the time being, they had other priorities.

"You really think it's in Hammond?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure," said Carter. "His behaviour, going down to the gate room alone, sending the Marines elsewhere..."

"And in how much trouble would you be if it turns out he wasn't compromised and you took the initiative of defying direct orders, Major?" snapped Makepeace.

She winced. "I'd say a lot, sir."

"On the other hand," said O'Neill, "someone tried to get out of the base and used force to do so. Without Carter taking initiative whoever it was would have succeeded. It's not like you'd have stopped them."

Makepeace glared at him but made no response. Probably because he knew that Carter had made the right call. Carter was usually right, O'Neill trusted in that.

"All right, as long as the General is being checked out, I guess I'm in charge," announced O'Neill to the room in general. And he loathed being in that position. "Makepeace, get your men to secure the Gate Room, the control room and the exits. Nobody leaves the base."

"Sir." Makepeace stomped away, bellowing orders at his men. The Gate Room emptied out and became quiet. Only SG-1 stood there, silent, worried.

"We should go see what's going on in the infirmary, shouldn't we?" said Daniel.

O'Neill sighed. "I guess so."

* * *

Walsh woke up with a jolt. She was on a gurney, strapped down. Her body ached all over and she felt sick to her stomach. Orderlies were looking down at her hesitantly, then someone firmly grabbed her, unstrapped her, and rolled her to her side. She twitched, but couldn't quite find the strength to resist.

Something heavy, much heavier than a blanket, covered her from her shoulders down. X-ray. The thought fuzzily ran through her mind. It was a lead apron because they were taking an X-ray. She didn't move, breathing through the nausea and her body's involuntary twitches.

Memories came swarming back, distant and unreal at first. Facing off with the Goa'uld in Hammond. The golden glow. Siler getting shot – she wasn't even sure if he was okay. The gate closing, the infuriated Goa'uld turning on her, gauging her, taunting her. The earth shaking, SG-1 and SG-8 tumbling in... disbelief in O'Neill's eyes. And then a zat blast.

Oh god, had they let Hammond go free? She glanced around the room, but couldn't see him anywhere.

The same strong hands rolled her onto her back and tied her down once more. She caught a glimpse of a Marine walking off after Janet. Then someone walked up towards her bed.

"Hey."

She couldn't help the feeling of intense relief that flooded through her when she heard his voice. His face came into view above her, frowning, tense, pale.

"Jack," she mumbled. That sounded a little too unprofessional for her liking. Her mouth was dry, hopefully he hadn't even heard her. She cleared her throat, although it felt like swallowing glass. "Colonel, did you apprehend General Hammond too?"

"Yeah, don't worry about that."

She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. "Good."

"How're you feeling?"

"Like someone shot me with a zat gun." Tremors from the blast were still shaking her limbs... unless they were tremors from the earthquakes. There was something about the earthquakes, something important...

"Colonel."

Walsh abruptly snapped back to reality when she heard Janet's voice.

"Any news, doc?"

"I'm afraid it got into the General," said Janet. Her voice faltered slightly.

"Jesus." There was a pause, a heavy sigh. "What about Walsh?"

"Her X-rays are clear. We can get her out of those restraints."

O'Neill didn't waste any time, bending over her, fingers making quick work of the straps. She glanced up at him. His face was still set in a worried mask, his eyes distant even though he was looking at her.

"So what happened?" he asked as Walsh sat up on the gurney.

"The General, Carter, Siler and Balinsky were in the office next to mine and... I'm not sure how, but the urn got broken."

"Carter told me there was a tremor and Siler slipped. She filled me in on most of the stuff you did together."

"We'd like to know what happened after you went down the emergency ladder," said Carter, who was standing behind O'Neill. Daniel and Teal'c were hovering near her.

"Right, yes," said Walsh. "I followed Siler down to Level 28 and we saw General Hammond heading for the gate room. A wormhole was engaged and neither of us had the codes to shut the gate down, so we went to confront him."

"Did he go full Goa'uld?" asked O'Neill.

The image of Hammond's distorted face, his eyes, his whole body, glowing in a golden light flashed through Walsh's mind.

"Yeah, he had the eyes, the voice... the arrogance. But at the same time, I think he was fighting it. He didn't shoot Siler to kill, and he could have. But then there was this huge tremor and Siler... how is he?"

"Concussed and he lost quite a bit of blood, but he should pull through," said Carter.

"Good. Siler was thrown across the room and I lost my balance. The Goa'uld was heading towards the gate, but the wormhole disengaged."

"Thank Carter for that."

Walsh nodded at her, and Carter smiled back a little tensely.

"So he came back towards me and told me to get out of his way, I'm not sure why he didn't shoot me. Instead... the Goa'uld went into some tirade about fertility. It didn't make much sense."

"Fertility?" said Daniel, who always seemed to get curious when someone was trying to gloss over a subject. "How do you mean?"

"He was trying to figure out if I could bear a child or if I was too old for that."

"Oh." Daniel had the good grace of looking like he realised this was a delicate subject. "Why?"

"I have no idea," said Walsh, in a tone that signified that she wasn't going to talk about this anymore. "All I know is that considering that presentation I gave about removing symbiotes, I'm surprised he didn't try to take me out from the get-go."

"Perhaps the General knew that you may be able to assist him and had preserved enough influence over his own body to prevent an attack," said Teal'c.

"Yeah about that," said O'Neill. "How ready are you to perform one of those miracles?"

She'd been dreading this, and the hopeful look on O'Neill's face wasn't helping at all.

"We're missing several elements that would make that possible, Colonel."

"Yeah I was looking over the plans of that modified zat gun," said Carter. "It looks pretty fine-tuned."

"It is, but it could probably be built quite quickly if need be," said Walsh. "What we need most is a team of neurosurgeons."

"That should be possible," said O'Neill. "If you figure out the zat thing."

"Colonel... with all due respect, the Tok'ra have much better success rates," said Carter.

"I know, Major. I also know how long they take to respond to our requests for help."

"Considering that we need to make the modified zat from scratch, they may still come in first to help us," said Walsh.

"Yeah well you and Carter get working on that anyway. Carter, you're in charge of the project, if there's anyone else who you think could be useful you have my permission to enrol them. Okay?"

"Yes sir," said Carter. Walsh nodded.

"Right. I'm going to–"

O'Neill broke off and had to grab at Walsh's gurney to stay upright. The whole room lurched and vibrated. A sickening, terrifying creaking accompanied the tremor now – the squeaky sound of metal structures being bent out of shape.

Walsh slid off the gurney before it threw her off and O'Neill dropped to the floor too, joining her underneath the bed. Carter and Daniel took refuge under the bed opposite them, while Teal'c helped a patient get into safety. Material in cabinets was rattling and shattering, fixtures in the ceiling swung dangerously. The lights flickered then went out again

Walsh had experienced this before, but that didn't make it any less frightening. The creaking was sickening, like nails on a blackboard. She flinched every time something broke, hands firmly grabbing the gurney to keep it in place over her head. Someone shrieked when what sounded like one of the neon fixtures crashed on the floor.

The stronger tremors subsided after a while and the auxiliary lighting came on. It felt like it was over, even though the room was still vibrating sporadically.

"Anyone hurt?" asked O'Neill, unfurling from under the bed. Walsh followed him out and he offered a hand to help her up. Brief as it was, the contact was comforting.

The room was a mess. Orderlies were coming out from their makeshift shelters, some were still holding pillows over the heads of wounded people who couldn't be moved. Paperwork and broken glass was strewn across the room and, as Walsh had suspected, one of the neons had come loose and smashed on the concrete floor.

"We really need to look into this, sir," said Carter as she got to her feet. "That wasn't a moderate quake."

"I got the feeling..." Walsh started, but couldn't go on. She was about to say something stupid.

"Yeah?" said O'Neill.

Walsh sighed. "I got the feeling it came from the Goa'uld."

"But it couldn't have," said Carter. "The Goa'uld need artefacts to be able to use their powers."

"I know that. But think about the timing: just when Siler had the urn in his hands, just when Siler and I had the General cornered..."

"And now that we've put him in a cell," supplied O'Neill.

"Exactly."

"Well actually," said Daniel, "that thing about fertility reminded me of something. You know the Goa'uld was possibly Gaia, right?"

"So?" said O'Neill.

"So she's an earth goddess," said Walsh. She couldn't believe that information had slipped her mind. It perhaps also explained the strange fertility questions.

"Exactly," said Daniel. "A mother goddess and an earth goddess. Okay so Poseidon was usually connected to earthquakes but maybe it was an ability that several Goa'uld had."

"You know, I could have sworn I saw a golden halo around the urn before it broke," said Carter.

"Really?" said Walsh. "I thought the General glowed gold before the tremor, and I'm not just talking about his eyes."

"You could have mentioned," said O'Neill.

"I thought I was remembering wrong. Now I'm not so sure."

"Could it be what Rupert did? Could the m..." Daniel checked himself – not everyone in the infirmary was supposed to know about magic and the supernatural. "Could what he did somehow have infused the Goa'uld with some kind of energy, an ability to use its powers without any external help?"

"Call your friend and find out," said O'Neill. "I'll get onto the rest."

"Exuse me, sir," Captain Kearney – Walsh vaguely remembered him having some role in base security – had just come in.

"Captain?" said O'Neill.

"You might, er, have to wait before you call someone. Phone lines are down sir. And we have a problem in the gate room."

"What kind of a problem?" asked Carter.

"It looks like some of the power lines in the base were damaged by the earthquake. The gate is offline, ma'am."


	26. Chapter 26

Things had gone to shit pretty fast. It shouldn't really surprise O'Neill, not anymore. After all, the military hadn't coined the expression "SNAFU" for nothing. He'd witnessed a lot of them in his career, but this one... this one really was promising to be one of the bad ones.

First the gate had lost power; the wires in the gate room had got ripped and the gate itself had shifted out of one of its holders, which meant complicated repairs that O'Neill hadn't been patient enough to listen to. The phone lines were down, and better yet, rockfall had blocked all entrances to the base.

It was as if the damn snake knew what it was doing when it had set off that earthquake. Perhaps it actually did; it was in the head of the one person who knew more about the base than O'Neill, after all. And now they were all trapped them in there with it.

O'Neill faced the snake in the containment room, a thick wall of plexiglas separating them. The thing looked back at him through Hammond's eyes, subtly deforming the General's features, wearing his body like a grotesque disguise, lighting up his eye sockets like he was some living Halloween pumpkin.

"So. You've locked us in. Good job," said O'Neill in his best sarcastic tone.

"I have," came a distorted voice that barely resembled the General's. "I believe I needed to do something to attract your attention."

"Well now you're stuck in here with us. There's just one of you, and a lot of us. What's your next move?"

"Do you believe that this structure will hold under the next tremor I will unleash upon you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that if it collapses, you'll die along with the rest of us."

"Are you certain?"

"Unless you think you can survive under tons of rubble."

"And what if I could control which structures will hold and which will collapse?"

O'Neill snorted derisively. "Yeah, right. You're bluffing."

"Am I?" A tremor shook them, the movement nearly making O'Neill lose his balance. He did his best to stand tall, not to break eye contact with the thing inside of the General.

"If you were aiming at me, you missed," drawled O'Neill as the tremors settled.

"You may want to check Doctor Walsh's lab."

Just the mention of her name made his heart race, but he kept his face set. He wasn't going to give it the satisfaction of frightening him. It was grinning, those ugly glowing eyes open too wide for comfort.

The phone rang. The damn snake chuckled when O'Neill started at the unexpected sound. He picked up, feeling cold sweat prickle his forehead.

"Colonel?"

Well, at least that was a relief. "Carter?"

"Sir, there was a bad tremor just now, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"No casualties, but the ceiling in Walsh's lab caved in. If she hadn't been in the lab with me..."

"I get the picture."

O'Neill wanted to tell Carter that they should get out of Level 19 right now, set up a lab somewhere else, somewhere that this damn Goa'uld wouldn't think of targeting. But he couldn't, Carter wasn't psychic and he'd have to wait until he could get that info to her.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No that's all, sir."

"Good."

He hung up and turned around. The Goa'uld was staring at him, a smirk on its face.

"I take it there are no casualties," said the snake. "Not yet, anyway."

O'Neill just crossed his arms over his chest and stared it down silently.

"Ah, we've given up the sarcasm. Good, I can see you're listening now. What I want is twofold. The first is an adequate host for a Queen."

For a split second, the association of General Hammond and "Queen" – combined with his already frazzled nerves – threatened to make O'Neill burst into incredibly inappropriate laughter.

"A Queen," he repeated.

"I am Gaia, mother of more Goa'uld than you have met."

O'Neill could think of a word starting with "mother" and rhyming with "trucker" that he'd be happy to fling at this creature. He couldn't say that to Hammond's face though, even if it wasn't him he was talking to.

"And I'm supposed to be impressed?"

"You will bring me a female host of childbearing age and you will release me through the Chappa-Ai, or I will crush you one by one."

"You broke the gate."

"You shall repair it."

"We don't negotiate with terrorists," said O'Neill. "You should know that."

"I am not patient, Colonel. You have three hours to fulfil my wishes."

Shooting the thing his best "screw you" look, O'Neill turned and walked out of the room. Once the door was closed behind him and he was walking down the corridor, he became aware of the goosebumps creeping up along his spine and of the nasty lurching sensation in the pit of his stomach.

It was holding them hostage. It knew their weaknesses, it knew the building, it knew how to cut them off from everything. It knew O'Neill would do anything to save everyone on base, including the General. Any attempt to attack it could result in their death. How the hell could they work around that?

"Jack?" Daniel hurried towards him, followed by Teal'c. They'd been watching the interview on camera.

"Get me Major Carter and Doctor Walsh from Level 19, and Doctor Fraiser," O'Neill said tersely to an airman who was passing by. "Oh, and Captain Kearney, he's overseeing repairs in the gate room."

The airman saluted, stuttered out a "yessir" and hurried off. O'Neill entered the surveillance room and sat down on a chair.

"So... that ability of his..." said Daniel as he sat down opposite him.

"Which is fuelled by your friend's magic, by the way." O'Neill couldn't keep the accusation from coming out.

Daniel made a face. "Well you know, if it is, he might run out of juice at some point."

"You sure about that?"

"Well... No. But it would make sense, wouldn't?"

"You know how this magic stuff works?"

"Uh..." Daniel sighed. "Not as such, no."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Teal'c, have you ever heard of something like this?"

Teal'c face was stony, his mouth turned down and forbidding as he watched the Goa'uld on the surveillance screens. "The Goa'uld frequently make claims about their god-like abilities. I have yet to meet one that did not use an artefact to achieve any result."

"You're sure the General was thoroughly searched?"

"Indeed."

"Could a symbiote have some kind of artefact on it?" asked Daniel. "Okay maybe that was silly."

"Colonel?" Carter came in, followed by Walsh, Fraiser and Captain Kearney.

"Thanks for joining us," said O'Neill. "Okay first: we have tried to get someone to the surface, right?"

"The emergency ladders are extremely dangerous to navigate," said Carter. "There's a lot of rubble that needs clearing out and the top levels are practically sealed off."

"Elevators?"

"They're working, but blocked off by rockfall at level 1, sir," said Kearney. "We'll have to wait until someone manages to drill through."

"And how long is that gonna take?"

"No idea, sir. Could be days."

O'Neill gritted his teeth. This was getting worse and worse. "And the gate?"

"We're working on it, it should be repaired pretty soon."

"At least that's something. Get back to work, Kearney. Whatever you're doing, do it faster."

"Yessir." Kearney shot out as quick as he could, practically stumbling over his own feet.

"Right, who's up for an impromptu brainstorming session?" said O'Neill, gesturing to seats in the room. They all settled down. Carter closed the door behind them.

Out of the corner of his eye, O'Neill could see the screen showing the Goa'uld's cell. It infuriated him and he didn't want to look at it anymore. Instead, his eyes fell on Walsh, who was staring at him with a sharp, resolved expression. Daniel and Carter were waiting with expectant looks on their faces, as if somehow he had all the answers. If only.

"So. The Goa'uld in Hammond is Gaia, claims to be a Queen, and threatens to destroy the base in three hours if we don't get it a female host and a wormhole to wherever it wants."

"Can it actually destroy the base?" asked Carter. "I mean... even if it could, wouldn't it die in the process?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Daniel. "It would be a gamble, but it showed that it's capable of targeting specific areas to destroy."

"Like my office," said Walsh.

"I guess it remembered that you might know how to zap it out of the General's head," said Daniel, and Walsh nodded.

Daniel's comment made sense, but O'Neill couldn't help thinking that the snake somehow knew, via the General, that Walsh was one of his weak spots.

"And since we're cut off from the rest of the world at the moment, if he managed to survive and anyone from outside the base found him, they wouldn't know he's... well, not the General," said Carter.

"They're not that dumb," said O'Neill. At least he damn well hoped not. Daniel looked sceptical, and so did Walsh.

"Well you remember what happened when we had that foothold situation with the Stragoth, sir," said Carter.

"Yeah, fine, I get your point."

"So basically our best hope is to get the gate back up and to send out an SOS," said Daniel.

"And do you expect the Tok'ra to come running to rescue us?" asked Walsh coolly.

Carter frowned at her, but O'Neill couldn't help thinking the same thing. Calling the Asgard might be a better plan; it was a shame they were fresh out of extra juice for the gate to dial their number.

"Well I suppose we won't manage to get a message out and get a response within the next three hours, at any rate," said Daniel in his best diplomatic voice.

"Yeah, I doubt it too," said O'Neill. "Any other brilliant ideas?"

"We could sedate him," said Fraiser.

"I agree," said Walsh. "There are a few drugs that work quite well on the Goa'uld."

"Well if that would spare us more earthquakes, I'm all for it," said O'Neill.

"But we might not have a large supply of those sedatives," Fraiser said. "And I doubt he'll be happy when he wakes up."

"Maybe we'll have enough supplies to last us until the Tok'ra arrive, or at least until reinforcements manage to drill through," said Carter.

"Or until you get that modified zat ready."

"No, sir... we need a neurosurgeon to do the procedure," said Carter. "None of us is qualified to do this operation."

O'Neill looked at Walsh and Fraiser in turn. They glanced at each other but didn't look all too sure.

"I've only assisted in one of these procedures, sir," said Fraiser.

"Me too," said Walsh. "It is relatively straightforward, as far as brain surgery goes, but the smallest mistake could leave him with brain damage or paralysed."

O'Neill knew that it was a long shot, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He would really prefer his people to take care of the General, rather than rely on any alien race who claimed to be allies but had their own agenda. He briefly closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

"Look, this is what's going to happen," he said at last. "We'll get him sedated. Then as soon as we get the gate to work again, we call the Tok'ra. If they haven't responded and we haven't drilled through by the time we run out of sedatives, you're going to have to operate on him. Sound fair?"

Walsh shrugged. "We can try our best."

"But sir..."

"Carter, it's either that or we shoot him in the head. Unless someone has a better idea?"

"He wants to change hosts," said Daniel. "That may be something we could use to our advantage..."

"Oh yeah, how? Get it into a female host, then shoot her?" snapped O'Neill.

"Actually, sir," said Carter. "Maybe that would be an option."

"Excuse me?" He couldn't believe she'd suggest that.

"Not shoot her to kill. But zat her unconscious. And then... well we know that melding can be prevented with a cryogenic procedure..." she trailed off.

"We don't have the technology to do it here, do we?" said O'Neill.

She sighed, looking defeated. "No sir."

"And I'm not going to let someone get snaked and maybe killed just to preserve the General. He'd give me hell if I let that happen."

Everyone was quiet, and O'Neill rubbed his face.

"All right then, back to the original plan. Carter, Walsh, work on that zat. Fraiser, you go check your stocks and we'll have to figure out a way to administer the drug without that damn snake destroying half the base before it's out cold. And Daniel, you find whatever you can about Gaia."

"And formulate a coded message for the Tok'ra?"

"Yes, that too."

"On it," said Daniel with a small smile, getting off his seat.

Carter rose too; she looked extremely tense. Walsh and Fraiser started talking animatedly, barbaric terminology such as "pentobarbital" and "methohexital" was being used – not that O'Neill understood half of it – so he supposed it was about sedatives and dosage.

"Wait, one other thing," said O'Neill. Everyone looked at him. He sighed. "That thing knows where you're working. You saw what it did to Walsh's office. So while it's still conscious, you guys had better work somewhere else."

"We could use one of the meeting rooms on Level 22," said Carter. "As long as we're brainstorming, at least."

"Sounds good to me," said O'Neill.

They left, all of them but Teal'c. He stood there silently, scowling.

"D'you want to keep an eye on it?" asked O'Neill.

"I shall keep guard in front of the detention cell, O'Neill."

"If the building shakes real bad..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but it was the only sane thing to do. He couldn't spare the General and risk killing everyone.

"I shall do what is necessary to prevent Gaia from damaging the premises."

O'Neill nodded and walked out. It was damn hard to stay positive, but he wasn't giving up on the General just yet.

* * *

Carter gave her a nervous glance. "So they're ready?"

"Yes. I think it's a sound plan," said Walsh. Which didn't mean she wasn't just as worried about its success.

"Yeah? What are they going to do?"

Walsh took a a seat at the small table. "Sergeant Westerholm volunteered to be bait; they'll tell the Goa'uld that they chose to offer her as a host. We lined her collar and back with kevlar, which should make it much harder for a symbiote to get in if it actually manages to leave the General."

Carter nodded. "Good thinking."

"While Gaia's attention is diverted by the potential host, the Colonel and Teal'c will taze the General."

"No zats then?"

"Doctor Fraiser thought it would be risky giving him another zat blast only a few hours after a first shot."

"Yeah, I see her point, it's not like we can do much research on how zat energy works. Well, at least not ethical research."

Walsh briefly wondered if that comment was directed at her, but continued. "When the General's down, they'll have a few moments to inject him with a heavy dose of barbiturates, into an artery. That's the tricky part, they won't be able to put him out fast unless they get right into the blood stream."

Carter made a little face and nodded. "But then Gaia should be out, right?"

"Yeah, we can keep the General out for a couple of days on the infirmary's reserves, if all goes well."

They lapsed into tense, anxious silence for a while. Clearly neither of them had much faith that things would go all that smoothly.

"Okay, shall we try to get back to the modified zat?" asked Walsh at last.

"Yeah."

The large conference room they were using was practical; tables that had been set up for Carter, Daniel, and some other people who were still discussing ways of drilling out. Carter had a zat gun from their reserve, as well as some tools and the paper Walsh had written to explain – at the best of her knowledge – what the Carter from her dimension had done to alter the zat gun. Not really ideal laboratory conditions, but it would do.

"So, from what we figured out so far about zat guns, the energy in the zat comes from a liquid energy source, which is modulated by a crystal," said Carter, showing Walsh the inside of the zat gun that she'd prised open. Walsh recognised the energy source, a small bead filled with a phosphorescent liquid, and the tiny crystals that the Carter of her dimension had once shown her.

"Yes, so far we've got the same information."

"Okay. And your Carter found the energy could be set to different wavelengths?"

"That's right."

"And one of these wavelengths affects symbiotes?"

"Yes. We believe that the Goa'uld engineered zat guns so that people with symbiotes could resist a blast better than humans."

"Okay, right, I remember reading that in your report."

Walsh nodded. "And when we were experimenting with Ra in the labs, we found that he was more sensitive to certain types of electrical current."

Carter grimaced. Walsh wasn't surprised, nobody liked the idea of torture, even on a Goa'uld. And they hadn't been aware, at the time, that the host still retained some consciousness.

"Anyhow, I know that our Carter changed the zat onto a higher frequency, and that's what allowed us to take out the Goa'uld in Kawalsky. That frequency stunned the Goa'uld more efficiently and for longer than a regular zat blast."

"It was a young Goa'uld, though, wasn't it? I mean..."

"Yes, I know," Walsh said. "This one could be very old, and very powerful."

Carter sighed. "I just hope help comes in before we have to try this."

"So do I, Major. As Dr Fraiser said, none of us are brain surgeons."

"You seemed pretty confident with that vampire."

It was the first time Carter raised the subject since they'd got back from Sunnydale.

"I seem a lot of things, Major. But mostly I was playing along to buy us time."

"You knew the Colonel would come."

"He doesn't leave people behind. If it had only been me, I might not have been so sure. But with you there, I had no doubt."

"Well, it sounds as if he likes you more than he let on," said Carter, her tone very neutral.

Walsh cringed a little on the inside. "The vampire made it sound like more than what it was."

"Uh-huh." Carter continued her manipulation of the crystal in the zat. It was emitting a faint buzz, and the pitch changed slightly when she altered the crystal's position.

Walsh didn't know what else to say. She'd never approached her Carter with this sort of thing; in fact she'd always tried to preserve the distance required between their different ranks and that had also kept them from having embarrassing conversations about their CO. Besides, now really wasn't the time to discuss it.

Carter finally turned around and smiled a tight little smile. "Don't worry. I know what people think about me and the Colonel, but really..."

Walsh waited, curious to see how that sentence might end.

Carter just shrugged. "You know, it's all because of alternate universes."

"It is?"

"Yeah. Did it happen to you guys? Daniel coming back from the other dimension, where the Colonel was engaged to... well, a civilian Samantha Carter."

Walsh frowned a little. "No, we didn't get any of that."

"Huh. And I guess the chances are too remote that another alternate Sam also found your dimension with that mirror."

Walsh blinked. "What?"

"You didn't know? A Samantha and a Kawalsky came through last year. She was Colonel O'Neill's wife and she, uh, she was very upset because he'd recently died."

Walsh couldn't say she was shocked by the information – there always seemed to be speculation about Jack and Carter in her dimension – but it took a while for her to process the idea all the same.

"Well, that didn't happen in our dimension," she said after a while.

"Anyway, my point was that it started to look... destined, you know?"

"Yes, I can imagine."

Carter didn't look at her and continued manipulating the zat's mechanism. "Do you believe that?"

Walsh shook her head. "Relationships do seem to repeat themselves in similar dimensions, but I don't think it's destiny. I'd say it's a mixture of circumstances, affinities and attraction."

"Right. I agree with that. And in any case, neither of the Sams in other dimensions had pursued a military career, so I guess they were actually a bit different from me."

"I find it hard to imagine a Sam Carter who isn't in the military. But then again, I find it hard to imagine not pursuing a military career myself."

Carter smiled a little. "Right? I had exactly that conversation with Samantha. She couldn't imagine it the other way round."

"I'm not sure how well I'd take another version of myself putting my life choices into question," said Walsh, seizing the occasion to veer the conversation away from O'Neill.

Carter gave a wry laugh. "What would you have said to your double, if you'd been able to meet her?"

"I'd have recommended that she get the hell away from the NID, and seek professional help." Walsh smiled to herself. "She would have hated me."

"Do you think she was redeemable? I mean... those experiments sounded pretty bad."

"I really couldn't say, not without meeting her."

"Yeah, I guess we'll never know." Carter paused and clicked the crystal in place in the zat gun. "Okay, so I see how this might work, but we really need to get back to the lab to test this. And how do we make sure that it would work on the Goa'uld in the General?"

Walsh sighed. She knew how, but it wasn't going to go down well. "We'd need Teal'c's help. But it might be dangerous for him."

Carter looked horrified, but whatever she was going to say was cut off when the room lurched. Equipment clattered to the floor and Walsh just avoided the sharp end of a precision knife as she dove under the table with Carter. The tremor was intense, but brief.

"Do you think it worked?" said Carter.

"I think we wouldn't be here if they hadn't managed to stop it."

But how they'd managed to stop Gaia remained to be seen. Walsh shuddered at the idea that they might have killed the General in order to stop the Goa'uld. Or Westerholm, for that matter.

Carter crawled out from under the table, took a few nervous steps across the room, then came back to pick the instruments off the floor. Her hands were shaking.

Walsh was shaking too, actually. She settled back on her chair and took a deep breath.

"I guess we'll soon know what happened," said Carter quietly.

"Yeah."

"Are you worried about the General?"

Walsh nodded. "We were... well, pretty attached to the General, in my dimension. And as you know, we found out the hard way that a change of leader can often lead to... well, catastrophic events, sometimes."

"I know. Not that long ago General Hammond was replaced for a few days by General Bauer. The naquadah-enhanced bomb he made me test nearly wiped out the base because its radioactive emissions came back through the gate."

"I'm not surprised, I'm afraid. But I'm glad you were there to stop it from happening."

Carter gave her a small smile.

The door burst open and Walsh did her best to refrain from jumping out of her seat.

"Hey?" O'Neill strode in, looking tense. "He's out for the count. Shouldn't bug us for the next 48 hours or so."

"Did it go as planned, sir?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Wasn't easy getting the artery, but we got there in the end."

"And Westerholm?" asked Walsh.

"She's fine. We didn't give the snake enough time to come out."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Carter. "Permission to go back to the lab? We really need to do some experiments."

"Go ahead, Carter."

"Oh and sir? Have you considered asking the Tollan for help?"

"What, so they can have one of their trials and maybe let the snake go free?"

Carter shrugged a little. "Could be better than nothing, sir."

"I'll see if I can talk to them," he said gruffly. With that, he was off.

"Well, it was worth a shot," mumbled Carter as she picked up what they'd brought into the meeting room.

"He's not wrong to be cautious."

"You're as paranoid of other civilisations as he is, aren't you?"

"Black ops, Major. You're trained not to trust anyone except your closest team-mates. But you're right, I shouldn't judge based on what I experienced in my dimension."

Carter sighed. "The Tok'ra have let us down recently. And the Tollan don't like to get involved in conflicts with the Goa'uld. I know all that."

"But you're right, Major, it's worth a shot."

"Yeah. In the meantime, let's see what we can do with this zat gun."

"Let's."


	27. Chapter 27

O'Neill slouched in the control room, watching the gate room below with growing irritation. Daniel was talking animatedly to Chancellor Travell of the Tollan, and it was pretty obvious from his broad gestures and from the veins that were swelling in his forehead that the Tollan were not going to help.

As if that was a surprise.

It had been over thirty hours since they'd put Hammond under. There wasn't much time left and it felt like they weren't getting anywhere. The gate was back up, sure. They'd got a message out to the Tok'ra and of course hadn't heard from them yet. At least all non-essential personnel had been relocated to the Alpha Site. No point in getting everyone crushed if the snake woke up unexpectedly.

The entrance to the mountain was still blocked, and the phone lines still down. They'd tried using radio to contact the outside world, but radio waves and tons of rock didn't mix. People outside most certainly knew that they were trapped in the mountain, but whatever that damn snake had done to the entrance had really jammed everything good and proper.

Frustration turned to anger in Daniel's features, and Travell looked even more distant and frosty than before. Daniel left her with what looked like a curt goodbye and stamped out of the gate room.

"Didn't go well, did it?" said O'Neill when Daniel came into the control room.

"Uh, no." Daniel took a deep breath, then turned to Sergeant Alberts, who was replacing Walter. "Could you dial Tollana please? She wants to get back home."

Alberts did as she was told. Travell had her back to them and didn't even turn to say goodbye before she walked up to the gate and went through. Coward.

"So what was her excuse?" asked O'Neill.

"Political disagreements in Tollana. Some of the chancellors don't want to get involved and put their planet in the middle of a fight between us and the Goa'uld."

"Told you they were a bunch of fence-sitters."

Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a frustrated groan.

"Well, you did all you could," added O'Neill. Daniel looked worn out.

"I kind of lost my cool."

"I'd have lost it much faster and been much ruder, believe me."

"Oh, I believe you." He was massaging the bridge of his nose now.

"How long's it been since you got some rest?"

"Uh..." Daniel looked up at him through reddened, bleary eyes. Then he put his glasses back on, peered at his watch and frowned in concentration, obviously trying to figure it out.

"Go to bed, Daniel."

"Yes but if..."

"I promise we won't have any fun without you. Now go."

Daniel heaved a great sigh and ambled off, hopefully towards his room. O'Neill knew how he felt. He'd snoozed a little during a few quiet moments, but hadn't actually got to lie down in... was it 48 hours now? Something like that.

He couldn't rest yet. He was exhausted, but he was also too wired and too tense to even contemplate sleep.

After a moment staring blankly at the gate room, O'Neill took the elevator to level 21, then to the observation room above the lab where they were keeping the General. It was absolutely pointless, but he couldn't think of anything better to do.

He'd been sitting at the observation bay for a while when Walsh came in. She looked as exhausted as he felt, gaunt, pale, her brow set in a permanent furrow. They glanced at each other. He felt way too tired to get up and just patted the seat next to him instead; she settled down beside him.

"How are things in the lab?" he asked. She didn't look like they had anything to jump for joy about.

"Carter went to rest. The zat is nearly done, but we need to fine-tune it and it was getting hard to concentrate."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "She actually _went_ to rest? Usually she just works until she crashes on her desk."

"Well I reminded her that sleep deprivation is about as bad as doing vodka shots, as far as fine motor skills are concerned. I think that convinced her."

"Huh, gotta remember that one."

They were quiet, watching the sleeping form of Hammond. He was heavily restrained, hooked up to an IV; there were several guards in the room, ready to shoot if the snake woke up and tried to bring down the facility. O'Neill rubbed his forehead. Just thinking about it gave him a headache.

"Any progress on your side?" she asked.

"Well the Tollan basically blew us off. But at least we know for sure, I guess."

Walsh just shook her head. "Typical."

Now that he didn't have anything to do, he could feel the weight of everything take its toll. Every muscle in his back twinged and ached. He rubbed the nape of his neck to ease some of the tension, but it didn't help.

"And the Tok'ra haven't responded yet."

"Funny, they were quicker to respond when they heard about me."

He smiled. "Paranoid."

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I suppose the Tok'ra can be useful, if you're lucky enough to catch them when they're not in the middle of some covert mission."

"Nice save."

He glimpsed a wry little smile on her lips. "Thank you."

"So you don't think they'll come."

"I hope they do. I really do. We're running out of–"

The machines in the observation room started beeping suddenly. Walsh shot up from her seat, as if she was going to rush to Hammond's side, and then froze on the spot. O'Neill got up too, watching Fraiser hurry into the room with three more of the medics. They all swarmed around the General's bed, shouting medical jargon at each other.

"What's going on?" O'Neill asked Walsh.

"I don't know." She was craning her head as if that might give her a better view.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

Walsh didn't answer. She didn't need to. They were intubating him. O'Neill winced as he watched. This couldn't happen, they were still looking for solutions. The General wasn't just going to die because of... god knew what kind of stupid medical issue.

The bleeping machines quietened down and the doctors stepped away. He hadn't flatlined; at least O'Neill was pretty sure he hadn't.

He heard Walsh take in a deep breath, then she spoke over the tannoy. "Dr Fraiser, can you tell me what happened?"

Fraiser looked up at them. She was frowning, her eyes shining anxiously. "Respiratory distress, his saturation was getting dangerously low. Probably the pentobarbital. We've got him stabilised."

Walsh nodded. "Thanks."

She went back to the seat and dropped down on it heavily. O'Neill followed, dazed. His knees felt a little weak.

"With the intubation, he should be okay for a while," Walsh told him quietly.

He wanted to answer but his mind was blank. The possibility of the General dying was getting more and more real in his mind. And if that happened, what then? What the hell was the SGC going to become?

Her hand slid between his shoulder-blades, rubbing gently. "It's going to be okay."

"I dunno, Walsh, I'm starting to get just a bit desperate." And by that he meant that he was making a big effort not to lose it.

"I know. But we're doing all we can, and it will pay off."

"Sure? Cause I'm not. I've been racking my brains for solutions, for things we can actually _do_ instead of sitting here watching. I can't shake the feeling that I must have forgotten something."

"You haven't. Not as far as I can tell." Her tone wasn't comforting anymore. She used the forceful tone of someone who was certain she was right.

"Oh yeah?"

"You did everything you had to do to secure the base, you listened to any solutions that people could come up with and you chose the most adequate ones. You have a several plans of action ready. I don't see how you could have done better."

He glanced at her; she was looking at him intensely.

"You're mighty sure of yourself."

"Yes, I am. I was in SG-1, I know how efficient you, Carter and Daniel are. Even if the Tok'ra don't show up, our zat is nearly ready."

"And then what? You said you needed a neurologist."

Walsh sighed a little. "I know."

"D'you think you could do it?"

"If it's the only option, then I'll try. In the very worst case, well... we'll at least be rid of the symbiote."

"But Hammond would die."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

"I'm getting so sick of this." He winced at his own words. Whining wasn't exactly the most dignified thing he could do.

She squeezed his shoulder. "Then perhaps you also need to rest a while."

"I can't sleep now."

"Says the man whose eyes are practically closing of their own accord."

She was right. Why did she always get to be right? And it was her damn fault if he was getting sleepy, the way she was rubbing his back was relaxing him.

"A couple hours then."

"In a bed."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a tyrant?"

She smiled, pretty pleased with herself. "Frequently."

He smiled back at her, and slowly got up. "One condition."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"You get some sleep too."

"Happily." She stood up and gently nudged him with her shoulder. "Come on, then."

O'Neill followed her to the elevator, glad in his exhaustion-addled mind that he had someone to follow. He'd been starting to feel very, very lost.

* * *

Walsh tried to stretch discreetly as the elevator brought her and Carter up to Level 22. O'Neill had called a meeting in one of the conference rooms, in case Gaia woke up and decided to trash level 27.

She'd slept a few hours, but four more had gone by since then and she was already feeling the exhaustion starting to weigh down on her again. She needed coffee, proper coffee, not the watered down stuff they served in the mess hall. Perhaps she could get some off Daniel.

O'Neill was already in the conference room, pacing, agitated. He turned around to look at Walsh and Carter as they entered; his features were slightly feverish, in a mixture of what looked like excitement and impatience. Teal'c was there too, sitting rigidly, his face in a permanent scowl.

"We're still waiting for Daniel and Fraiser," O'Neill told them curtly.

Walsh settled down at the table, Carter sitting next to her and placing their modified zat in front of them. O'Neill's attention shifted to the weapon, eyes roving over it avidly. If it worked, it was their only chance of fixing this crisis without the help of the Tok'ra. Walsh still didn't feel very comfortable with the idea, though.

Janet and Daniel arrived together and quickly took their seats opposite Walsh and Carter. Janet looked utterly exhausted but her face was set in her usual determined expression. Daniel was fidgety, eyes red-rimmed with sleep deprivation.

"Okay, so. Good news and bad news," said O'Neill. He finally took a chair and sat down. "The good news is we have the phones and other telecommunications back up at last."

"That's great news," said Daniel.

"Well the bad is they'll need a couple more days to dig through the rock that fell on the entrance, and that they still haven't figured out a way to get into the emergency ladders without destroying them in the process. We're still stuck here for at least 48 hours."

"And we're running out of pentobarbital," said Janet.

"Can you put him on something else?"

"It's the only one we've tested on the Goa'uld," said Walsh. "Experimenting with other drugs could prove very dangerous."

"Of course it would." O'Neill rubbed his face. "Further bad news is that there's still no word from the Tok'ra. As expected."

"I'm sure Selmak would have responded if he'd been able to, sir," said Carter, a little reproachfully.

"I know, Carter," O'Neill said in a slightly less abrasive tone. "Fact is, they must be wrapped up in some Tok'ra thing. Usually they at least send word to say they can't make it to the party."

"We could send a team out to check on their current base," said Daniel.

"That's the first thing I asked the President, but he said no. Too dangerous, we might not have the necessary resources to treat casualties, what if whoever we encounter decide to launch an attack through the gate, yadda yadda. No gate travel except to the Alpha Site."

Daniel rolled his eyes and gave a little shrug.

O'Neill turned to Walsh and Carter and looked at them intently. "Now please tell me you're done with this zat gun."

"We are, sir," said Carter. "Well, we've done as much as we could without testing it on an actual symbiote."

"Testing it," O'Neill repeated. It was obvious from his face that he hadn't thought about the testing phase whatsoever. Which meant that the next part was going to be even more difficult.

"We need to make sure it incapacitates the symbiote sufficiently, without killing it," said Walsh.

"And how do you propose to do that?"

God, the shoe still hadn't dropped. She saw, from a slight shift in Teal'c's expression, that he had figured it out.

"You would require my assistance," said Teal'c.

"What?" snapped O'Neill.

"Yeah... we can't think of any other option," said Carter quietly.

"Wait. You guys want to zap Junior? And what if you kill it?"

Teal'c cocked his head and looked at them both, as if to reiterate O'Neill's question. Carter stared at her hands. Walsh let out a little sigh.

"Our other options would be to try the zat out directly on Gaia," said Carter. "But if it kills the symbiote, the General will most probably die with it. And since we can't go offworld, we can't acquire another symbiote."

O'Neill's face practically twitched with frustration. "Under the circumstances, we could try."

"You would do experiments on an unwilling Jaffa?" asked Teal'c. His tone was calm enough, but there was a hint of accusation, like a faraway roll of thunder, in his voice.

"That could jeopardise our relationship with the rebel alliance," Daniel pointed out.

O'Neill just made an angry little grunt, clearly defeated.

"I will allow Major Carter and Doctor Walsh to conduct their experiment on my symbiote," said Teal'c.

"But... what if it dies?" asked Daniel. O'Neill didn't say anything, but his lips pressed hard together.

"Then perhaps we may consider finding another symbiote at that point."

"You guys are nuts," grumbled O'Neill.

"I'm afraid we can't keep the General out for more than a few more hours anyway," said Janet.

"What's a few?" asked Daniel.

"Eight, nine at the most."

"Okay, fine. Say that zat gun works like it should, what then? Neither of you two–" O'Neill jabbed a thumb towards Walsh and Janet in turn "–are qualified to do brain surgery, right?"

"No, we're not," said Janet.

"But, uh... if someone guided you, could you do it?" asked Carter.

Janet raised her eyebrows, clearly considering it.

"I hadn't thought of that," said Walsh.

"Anyone care to explain?" asked O'Neill.

"Well, sir, telecommunications are back up now," said Carter. "We can use our teleconference material to film the procedure and have neurosurgeons guide Dr Fraiser and Dr Walsh in real time. Would that work?"

"It's certainly better than operating blind," Janet conceded.

"Walsh, you good with this?" O'Neill asked.

She nodded. "It seems like a good plan."

"No it doesn't, but it's our only plan at the moment," said O'Neill. "Okay. Go try out that zat gun, and do your best not to kill Junior, okay?"

"Yes sir," said Carter, standing up.

"Fraiser, Daniel, come with me, I'll need someone to explain what you're gonna do and what you need to do it to the people in Washington. And to convince them that it's not completely insane."

"I'm not entirely convinced myself, but I'll give it a shot," said Daniel with a little smile.

They all went their separate ways, Teal'c following Walsh and Carter back to the lab. They were silent during the ride down.

Only now was the weight of what Walsh was about to do sinking in. She didn't want to kill one of O'Neill's – and Daniel's and Carter's for that matter – best friends. Especially not when Hammond may not pull through either. Hammond's death had hit her Jack very hard. Not that he'd admit to this kind of thing, but the General had been a much needed father figure in his life, one of the only authority figures that Jack had actually managed to respect.

As a matter of fact, all of her team had taken Hammond's death pretty badly, her included. Walsh couldn't bear the thought of being unable to save this one. She hadn't been able to do anything for hers – things had happened so fast, so brutally. And the way her SGC had devolved after his death... it didn't bear thinking about. She had to save this Hammond.

They walked quietly to Carter's lab and closed the door behind them. Carter took a deep breath. Her hands trembled slightly when she put the modified zat down on the table.

"Okay. So."

"How do you propose to do this?" asked Teal'c. He seemed extremely calm.

"You will have to remove the symbiote from your pouch," said Walsh. "If it dies, you don't want it releasing poison into your body."

Carter was already filling a glass tank to contain the creature. "This should do," she said, nearly to herself. She didn't make any eye contact with Teal'c.

"Major Carter, I have the utmost trust in your abilities," said Teal'c.

"Yeah, well," said Carter, still not looking towards him, "it's all based on Doctor Walsh's information."

With the implication, perhaps, that this information was not necessarily trustworthy or accurate. Walsh couldn't really blame her for being cautious, but it stung.

Teal'c fixed his eyes on Walsh. "Are you confident in your data, Doctor Walsh?"

"I am."

"Very well. Then I am ready."

The Goa'uld squealed when Teal'c removed it from his pouch. Walsh had always found the sound disturbing, and it was even more so when she thought that one of these things was in the General's head at the moment. Once placed in the slightly electrified water, the symbiote seemed at ease and swam a few laps in the small tank.

"Okay," said Carter. Her face looked clammy. "Who should do the honours?"

Walsh wasn't sure she wanted the responsibility of shooting the symbiote, and obviously Carter didn't want it either. She was about to open her mouth when Teal'c stepped between them.

"It is I who shall fire, Major Carter."

Carter smiled weakly. "You don't have to do that, Teal'c."

He made no answer and picked up the modified zat gun, cocking it towards the surface of the water. Walsh and Carter's eyes met briefly, mirroring each other's anxiety.

The shot went off, a vivid shade of green rather than the usual blue. The Goa'uld symbiote in the tank froze, its body going limp and slowly sinking to the bottom. It was a graceful movement, mesmerising, and Walsh couldn't help but watch with bated breath as it hit the bottom, its tail coiling slightly over itself.

Complete silence filled the room. Nobody dared to move. The effect had obviously been enough to stun it, but what if it had been too strong?

Minutes that felt like hours passed until the symbiote's tail twitched. Its head rose, then its body unfolded, and it flicked around the tank, hitting its head on the glass, thrashing around in a panic.

"Oh god," Carter whispered. "Is it okay?"

Walsh wasn't sure if this was a sign it was getting better, or if these were death throes. She watched in silence as the symbiote slowed down, shook its head, and started swimming around in a nervous but decidedly alive manner.

Walsh breathed a sigh of relief. "I think we're good."

Now all they needed to do was perform an operation they weren't qualified for, and that only worked half the time when performed by qualified surgeons. O'Neill was right, it was a terrible plan, but there wasn't anything else they could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you know about the overall progress of this fic. I am currently writing the last three chapters of the story, which will end around chapter 37. Basically, it's nearly finished, and I hope to soon be able to post more frequently once I'm done with writing the last chapters. Thanks for reading this far! Comments and concrit are always welcome!


	28. Chapter 28

Daniel held his coffee cup tight as he huddled in the observation bay between Sam and Teal'c. Sam was exhausted, Teal'c was stoical, and Jack was the most nervous Daniel had ever seen him. He was leaning stiffly against a wall when he wasn't restlessly pacing the room like a caged animal, his whole frame tense as a bowstring. It couldn't be easy to be responsible for deciding what to do with the General, when the outcome was so uncertain.

"How's your symbiote doing, Teal'c?" Daniel asked quietly.

Down in the operating theatre, Janet was wielding an electric saw and Daniel didn't particularly want to watch her open up the General's skull. Just the noise was giving Daniel the shudders.

"My symbiote is fine, Daniel Jackson," replied Teal'c, who on the contrary was watching the operation intently. "As am I."

"How long d'you think this is going to take?" asked Jack, shifting to lean his back against the bay so that he wouldn't face it anymore.

"About three or four hours," said Daniel. "Well they've been in there preparing him for a while, I'm not sure if that's included."

"They said they were running out of sedative," said Sam. "I hope they can keep him down for that long."

"My thoughts exactly," said Jack darkly.

Time had gone by frighteningly fast. They'd had to wait until the neurosurgeons outside of Cheyenne were rounded up and to get the teleconferencing connection ready. Apparently they'd brought together the doctors who had been present when they'd tried to remove the Goa'uld from Kawalsky's head as well as a few more specialists.

And now that everything was in place and they didn't have anything else to do but wait, time seemed suddenly slow down to a lazy trickle. Every careful move in the operating theatre appeared to take ages. And every minute that went by was both nerve-racking and exhausting.

"So, uh... do you guys know how they'll be sure that the whole Goa'uld is completely removed this time?" asked Daniel after what felt like hours of silence, but turned out to only be about thirty minutes.

"Walsh told me about this," said Sam, straightening up. "She said they figured out that when a symbiote is pulled out of its host, it leaves behind most of its nervous system, deeply embedded in the host's brain. After that, it can't jump hosts anymore. Or maybe it can grow its body back, like a lizard–"

Jack glowered at them. "Too much information, Carter."

"I suppose the Tok'ra would know more about this," said Daniel.

"Note how they never thought it would be useful to tell us about it," grumbled Jack.

There was more silence. Whether they spoke or kept quiet, it always felt uncomfortable. Jack paced for the umpteenth time across the room and back, briefly glancing into the operating theatre before turning away from it again.

"So, uh, how did they know how to remove the whole symbiote with Kawalsky?" asked Daniel, whose brain was looking for pretty much any distraction. "We never expected the Goa'uld to leave some part behind, so what made them think it could happen?"

"Because they tried to remove the symbiote from Ra's host, and it didn't work," said Sam.

"Right, I keep forgetting they did experiments on Ra and the captured Jaffa," said Daniel. He was still trying not to look at what Walsh and Janet were doing, or at the General's exposed brain. The glimpse he'd got a few minutes previously had given him the shudders.

"Yep," said Sam flatly. It sounded like she disapproved.

Well the experiments were pretty distasteful, though if they'd been able to save Sha're using that knowledge, Daniel probably wouldn't have thought twice about it. Sam, of course, had experienced having a symbiote inside her first-hand, and was bound to feel differently about it.

"Must've given them an advantage," Jack said quietly. "I mean, they didn't have Teal'c. If they hadn't had some knowledge about the Goa'uld and Jaffa, they'd have died much sooner."

Daniel wasn't surprised that Jack wouldn't have too many qualms about getting a tactical advantage on the enemy using unethical methods, but the way he seemed to be siding with Walsh was certainly new.

A few weeks ago he'd been paranoid about her, even got into a screaming match with her, and now he'd made her take part in a really delicate operation. He was literally trusting her with the General's life. Not that Daniel disagreed, she seemed competent enough and she hadn't given them a reason to doubt her loyalty. But Jack's change of heart was pretty abrupt. Daniel pondered on this for a while, wondering yet again about what had happened in Sunnydale. At least that was something else to keep his mind off the operation going on below.

A long period of silence followed, interrupted only by Jack's occasional pacing. Sam was half-slumped against Daniel, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. All his muscles were taut with fatigue and tension and caffeine, and he suspected she felt the same. Teal'c was still as a statue, his eyes never leaving the operating theatre. Daniel only caught snatches of what they were doing, and occasionally tried to understand the directions the neurologists were giving Janet and Walsh.

At one point, after what felt like days, Sam shifted and leaned forward. "I think they're unwinding the symbiote."

Daniel risked a glance at the operating theatre. Sure enough, Janet and Walsh were slowly and carefully unwrapping dark slimy coils from under the skin of the General's neck – Daniel was thankful not to have eaten anything lately because the sight was sickening. The symbiote appeared to be limp in Janet's hands, obviously out from the anaesthesia.

"I guess they're preparing to zap it," said Jack. He was standing close to the bay window, staring down.

"Sure looks like it," said Sam, her voice slightly shaky with nerves.

"But... wait, are they going to give him a zat blast to the brain? I mean it's electricity, so if they hit the Goa'uld, they hit the General, right?" Daniel hadn't thought about this before, and now he was starting to understand why Walsh had said there was only a fifty percent survival rate.

"That's the idea," said Sam. "They expect him to have a seizure when it hits him. And... well, they'll just see what happens after that."

Jack just made a disgusted little grunt. He looked just as bad as Daniel felt: pale, clammy and ready to climb the walls with anxiety and anticipation.

"Looks like they're ready to do it," said Sam. Her voice was barely audible, all their eyes were riveted on Janet as she picked up the modified zat.

Janet stood back from the operating table and activated the gun; her eyebrows were knitted but her hand was steady. Walsh was hovering near an IV bag, a syringe at the ready, eyes focused on the General. Daniel didn't envy either of them. The responsibility was overwhelming.

There was a collective wince when Janet fired the zat at the Goa'uld's tail. The blast spread and crackled all over the General in bright green electric flashes.

Everything happened fast after that. The symbiote slid to the floor without anyone touching it, while the General's body continued to tremble and spasm. Walsh immediately injected something into the IV and went to check on the General. One of the assistants snatched the symbiote off the floor and threw it into a metallic tank full of water before slamming it shut.

The next few minutes were distressing and bewildering. Janet and Walsh swarmed around the General, giving each other instructions. They sounded relatively calm, considering the circumstances. The General stopped convulsing after a while, too long to Daniel's taste, but then he wasn't that kind of doctor and didn't really know if this was normal or not.

"Did you see how it just... fell out?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, yeah I did," Daniel replied.

"It was most impressive," said Teal'c.

Jack didn't say anything; his eyes were glued to the operating theatre. The machines were bleeping steadily, Walsh and Janet and their assistants were still moving around the General in a choreography that Daniel didn't really understand. It didn't look like there was a crisis anymore, though.

When Walsh took the piece of skull that they'd removed and slotted it back in place, Daniel felt a little reassured. It meant that they'd done... well, everything they were going to do. And the General was still alive. Daniel didn't want to rejoice just yet, but it seemed pretty positive.

"Looks like they're finishing up." Daniel practically felt the sag of Sam's body when she said those words, and he reached out to pat her back gently.

Walsh and Janet seemed more relaxed now. They were talking softly to each other, and the specialists had stopped giving them instructions. The stitching up process was probably more routine than the previous parts. Finally, the General was wheeled out of the room by the nurses.

And all of a sudden, the two doctors seemed to shrink down. They'd been commanding and self-confident during the operation, but now that Walsh removed her surgical mask the exhaustion was obvious in her gaunt features. Janet stretched, and gave a weak little smile towards the control room; her eyes too were red with sleeplessness.

"Doctors," said Doctor Warner's voice, "I believe the operation is a success so far. Congratulations."

"Thank you Doctor," replied Janet. "Though we'll only know for sure when he wakes up."

Daniel had suspected that. There could be brain damage that would only be detectable when he woke up – if he woke up. Actually that was a pretty scary thought. If he had irreversible brain damage... well. Perhaps the Tok'ra would be able to help at that point, if they could keep him alive until their next visit.

"Of course. I would suggest that Doctor Walsh be in charge of his neurological examinations, as this is her field of expertise," said Warner. "If that's all right with you Dr Fraiser, of course."

"Fine by me," said Janet.

"This might not need saying," continued Warner, "but don't forget to keep him under close surveillance for bleeding or further seizures and he will need to wear surgical compression–"

The room shook dangerously and all the lights flickered. Daniel's empty coffee cup slipped out of his fingers and smashed on the floor.

Jack strode to the microphone and flicked it on. "Someone down there get rid–"

Walsh already had the modified zat in her hand. She shot at the metallic crate, once, twice. Everything went still.

"–of that thing," finished Jack lamely.

"Is everything all right?" asked Doctor Warner.

"We had to terminate the Goa'uld," Jack said into the microphone. "It was still a threat to the base. We just had another tremor."

"Understood, Colonel. It would have been better to have a live specimen, but we'll have to make do with a necropsy."

"You're welcome," Jack snarled, before flicking off the microphone. With a great sigh, he finally dropped onto the seat and rubbed his face.

"Well... I guess it's over," said Daniel, still trying to process everything that had happened in the last few minutes.

Daniel patted Jack's shoulder gently, but he shifted away irritably. "If you guys want to go see Fraiser, you go right ahead."

Daniel took that as a cue to leave him alone. Teal'c stood up, obviously also taking the hint.

"Aren't you coming, sir?" asked Sam, looking at him with concern.

"I'll wrap up with the guys from Washington and I'll be right behind you."

As they walked out, Daniel glanced back at Jack. He was ashen, clearly shaken by everything. And of course, in typical Jack style, he didn't really know how to express it with words, or how to share it with other people. That made Daniel a little sad, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Daniel followed the others, feeling a little unsteady himself, legs wobbling after that new adrenaline surge. It was difficult to believe that it was all over, but two blasts of a zat gun killed most things, including Goa'uld symbiotes. Now all they needed to worry about was the General getting better.

* * *

O'Neill had a headache. It had taken up residence all around his temples and forehead and it wasn't about to quit anytime soon. Perhaps it was because he couldn't get more than a couple hours sleep at a time before someone needed him for one thing or the other. Perhaps it was just all the worrying. He was starting to really feel for the General. Running a base was a pain in the ass.

It felt like they'd been walled in the base for months, but it was in actual fact only about eighty hours. They'd soon be free – the guys on the other side were making good progress. And after that he'd have to answer a million questions and to justify his decisions. So much fun, he could hardly wait.

He was sitting in the mess hall in front of a half-eaten doughnut and a cup of coffee that was quickly going cold. It was possible he was dawdling just a little. He was supposed to go down to the infirmary and check on the General. He'd woken up the previous day, but only now was he conscious and well enough to do some tests. The results of those tests made O'Neill edgy, to say the least.

Still, it was a huge relief that the General was was alive and awake and able to breathe without a tube. Whatever else he had was probably fixable.

"Hey," said Daniel, putting his tray down in front of O'Neill and sitting in the seat opposite.

"Daniel. Teal'c."

Teal'c was also settling down at his table. Apparently it was break time for them, and O'Neill's quiet time was well and truly over.

"Any news on General Hammond yet?" asked Daniel. He was talking fast, clearly wired. The coffee he was sipping wasn't going to make that any better.

"Not yet. Shouldn't be long, though."

"I've got to say, Maggie and Janet did a pretty impressive job with that operation considering it's not even their field of expertise. I mean, he's awake, that's got to be a good sign."

"Indeed," said Teal'c, tilting his head approvingly.

"Yeah. If the General is okay, we might be able to say that our plan wasn't as insane as it looked," said O'Neill.

"I was kind of surprised that you'd trust Maggie with anything," said Daniel.

O'Neill looked at him warily. "Well I guess I finally decided she was trustworthy. Besides, there was always someone checking on her work."

"That's true. Looks like things are going well with her these days, then."

O'Neill made a show of sipping his coffee, wondering if he could get away with ignoring Daniel's comment. He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.

Things with her were complicated, actually. The less busy he was, the more he thought about her, which was a dumbass thing to do when he had to keep professional. He couldn't visit her or talk to her in private without people noticing. It was ironical, really; he'd spent weeks avoiding her, but now that he had to stay away he found the situation terribly frustrating. He still wasn't really sure how he felt about what was brewing between them, but the only way to find out was, well, contact.

"How d'you mean?" he finally said.

"I dunno, you two seem much more friendly since you got back from Sunnydale."

"We do?" said O'Neill, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Oh yes. I mean you haven't as much as glared at her since then. What happened to change your mind?"

Something about Daniel's knowing expression made O'Neill think that he already had a theory, or that he'd perhaps even heard a piece of gossip. Mayber Carter had told him what she'd heard. He damn well hoped the guys in surveillance hadn't seen anything and started spreading stories.

"I got new intel," said O'Neill after a while. "Saw a different side of her. I guess she found out more about me, too."

"Oh. Do you mean she found out that you and her alter ego..."

O'Neill glowered at Daniel, daring him to say it out loud.

"Shared a relationship of an intimate nature," Teal'c supplied.

"How do you even know that?" O'Neill snapped at him, glancing around in case anyone was eavesdropping. "Daniel I swear, you're a damn gossip."

"Hey, I didn't say a thing," said Daniel, who looked way too amused.

"I was merely making an inference," said Teal'c. "You have now confirmed it."

Daniel stifled a chuckle. Damn them, when had his personal life become the subject of inferences, anyhow?

"Fine, fine," said O'Neill. "Yes, Walsh found out Maggie and I had an 'intimate relationship'."

"And then?" asked Daniel.

"And then what?"

"And then what happened then?"

Daniel had that annoying teasing smile spread on his face. O'Neill glared at him. He liked it better when everyone was all anxious about the General and unable to think about anything else.

"Don't you have some archaeological doohickey to study? Are you that bored that you have to pester me with questions?"

"Perhaps O'Neill's relationship with Doctor Walsh has also taken on an intimate nature of late," said Teal'c to Daniel. "That would explain his current discomfort."

O'Neill wasn't going to dignify that with a response, but unfortunately his face was doing it for him. He could acutely feel the heat where his cheeks had flushed.

Daniel blinked, eyes darting between Teal'c and O'Neill. "Wow, really?"

"Oh shut up," O'Neill said with a sigh. "And it wasn't _that_ intimate." Though it might have got there, had there not been an earthquake. He really needed to stop thinking about that.

Teal'c cocked an eyebrow at Daniel and held out his hand. Daniel heaved a great sigh, picked up his plate of doughnuts and handed it to Teal'c, who smiled with smug satisfaction. The bastards even had a bet over it!

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" grumbled O'Neill.

"Did I not say that I had made inferences, O'Neill?" Teal'c said, biting into a pastry.

"Did you also infer that I would kick your butts?"

Teal'c just cast him a haughty glance and Daniel smiled. O'Neill supposed threats like those would work better if he actually acted upon them. And if he were actually able to kick Teal'c's butt.

"So, do you plan on dating her?" asked Daniel.

Those words sent another surge of panic and embarrassment through O'Neill's chest; he could feel his face tingle with heat.

"I dunno, Daniel. At the moment I'm her CO. Actually I'm everyone's CO, including you, not that it's ever prevented you from being an annoying little shit."

"Touché," said Daniel with a small laugh. "Anyhow, I'm glad you trusted her. It was a good call."

"Well, that's what I've got to check out right now." He got out of his seat, glad to have been given a way out of this conversation.

"Are you going to see the General?"

"Yep."

"Think we can tag along?"

"Well I doubt Fraiser will kick you out of the infirmary."

So they made their way to the infirmary and were greeted by Fraiser, who allowed them to wait until the General's exam was done. She never could resist the way Daniel batted his eyelashes at her.

"How long's this supposed to take?" O'Neill asked Fraiser after what felt like a long time. Walsh was still in Fraiser's office with the General, and he didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign.

"It takes as long as Doctor Walsh needs, Colonel," said Fraiser.

He grunted and sat down on an empty bed, glancing towards the med labs on the other side of the infirmary. That's where they kept the symbiote. He'd seen it. It was in one of the freezers and it looked very dead, but O'Neill would still be glad when that thing was out of the base. It had given them too many bad surprises.

"Huh. You know what, I really envy Walsh."

"How so?" said Daniel.

"She got to zat the crap out of that snake."

"Ah, yeah. I can see how that could have been cathartic."

O'Neill turned to Fraiser. "You sure that thing is still dead, Doc?"

"Yes, Colonel, quite sure."

"I examined the symbiote myself, O'Neill," said Teal'c.

"I know. It's just... after all that magic stuff, you never know." He'd had several dreams over the past few days where the thing came alive again and brought the whole base down. Yet another reason he couldn't sleep properly.

"Rupert assured me the spell can't bring something back to life," said Daniel. "And did I mention how sorry he was?"

"A few times."

"Well, he is. If his magic was the cause of this, we still don't know for sure."

O'Neill rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. He felt pretty sure that messing with powers they didn't understand, on alien creatures they didn't understand either, was a good way to get catastrophic consequences. Why he'd allowed Daniel to let his friend do that spell was beyond him. He'd obviously not been able to think straight when he was in Sunnydale.

The door to the office opened; O'Neill jumped up and stood at attention in case the General showed up. But only Walsh emerged; she looked amused, probably at the fact that for once in his life he was following protocol.

"So, what's the news?" he asked her.

"I think you should ask the General yourself, Colonel." She looked pretty pleased though. Her eyes sparkled, even though the rest of her looked as tired as he felt.

"Can we go in?" asked Daniel.

"Just Colonel O'Neill for now. The General's expecting him."

"Okay." O'Neill glanced at Daniel and Teal'c in what he thought was a warning way. They'd better not say anything embarrassing to Walsh while he was away. Daniel gave him an angelic smile, which didn't reassure O'Neill at all.

He walked to the little office, passing by Walsh as she returned to the infirmary. Even without touching her, the proximity was enough to make his stomach flutter. Before he went in to see the General, O'Neill turned back.

"Walsh?"

She looked back towards him. "Yes?"

"Thanks."

He knew – and perhaps she knew too – that he sucked at words. They always seemed small and dumb when it came to expressing things he felt. But he meant that. She'd had a big part in saving the General, and in keeping his spirits up.

Walsh smiled, not amused this time, nearly shy. "You're welcome, Colonel."

He caught a glimpse of Daniel and Teal'c in the background, and he had the impression Daniel's eyes were twinkling, and that there was a barely perceptible smirk on Teal'c's lips. O'Neill ignored them and took a deep breath before he entered Fraiser's office.

The General was lounging on the gurney. It was weird to see him like this, in a medical gown. He looked smaller, somehow, than when he was in uniform. But he turned his face towards O'Neill, raising his eyebrows.

"Sir," said O'Neill, with a smart salute.

"At ease Colonel." The General sounded a little tired, but he smiled a little.

"So... how are you doing, sir?" O'Neill knew it was a little abrupt, but his patience was growing thin.

The General was thoughtful for a moment. "Well, considering that I had a parasite in my head for a few days, and that it was forcibly removed, I'd say pretty damn good, Colonel. Doctor Walsh said my test results were fairly normal, considering."

O'Neill practically sagged with relief. He'd guessed from Walsh's face when she came out that the General was all right, but hearing him say it was very different. He looked normal, he sounded normal. After all the potential complications Fraiser had enumerated – loss of speech, paralysis, amnesia, personality changes – it was great to have him back.

"That's good to hear, sir."

"Of course I'll feel even better when I'm out of this infirmary and find out how much damage this Goa'uld did to my base."

"About that, sir, did you know we were walled in?"

"I know, Colonel, I... remember."

"Ah." Now that was something O'Neill would have preferred not to know. It was nasty to imagine that the General had been conscious and unable to control his own body while the Goa'uld made him put the whole base in danger. It was the stuff of O'Neill's nightmares.

"Doctor Fraiser filled me in a little on what happened after they sedated me."

"Yeah, that was... well, let's just say the Tollan and the Tok'ra didn't exactly shine by their assistance."

"So you let Doctor Walsh cut into my head."

That sounded a lot like an accusation. "It was a last resort, sir. Doctor Fraiser was supervising her and there were several doctors in Washington guiding them."

"I would say I was surprised that you trusted her, but that's not entirely true."

He hadn't expected to have _this_ conversation this soon. "Sir?"

"Let's say that the evidence our surveillance team brought to my attention a few days ago was quite compelling. Do I need to remind you that what happened in her room was rather unprofessional?"

The blush was creeping back into O'Neill's cheeks. "I know, sir."

"She is technically part of our civilian personnel, after all. And you then proceeded to put her in a position of considerable authority."

This was exactly what he'd been dreading, but at least he was prepared for it.

"Sir, our plan A was to get the Tok'ra or the Tollan to help out. In the meantime I ordered Carter to finish working on the modified zat as fast as she could, and Walsh was the only one who knew how to help. Then we were stuck here and didn't have anyone who was really qualified to operate within a constrained timeframe, so we chose the people who had the most knowledge in that field. In any case, Walsh was constantly working under Carter's or Fraiser's supervision."

The General was quiet for a while, his eyes boring into O'Neill, who looked back at him stubbornly. He believed in this. They'd done the right thing, he was even more sure of it now that he could see that the General was going to pull through without brain damage. And they'd done it without the help of those damn Tok'ra, too, which made O'Neill peculiarly proud.

"Well, it was a good call, Colonel. I would probably have done the same myself."

O'Neill felt himself breathe a little more easy. This was just a test. "Thank you, sir."

"But you know that these kinds of relationship are always delicate. Even more so in the light of the new rules regarding relationships with civilian personnel."

"I know, sir."

"And this base is certainly not a place to pursue personal relationships."

"No, sir."

"Good. I'm glad we're clear on that."

"We are, sir. Though, if I may say so, Walsh and Kawalsky aren't at liberty of having any kind of personal relationships or private lives, in these living conditions." Perhaps he was pushing it a little, but it had to be said. Even Teal'c had more freedom, and he had a Goa'uld symbiote in his stomach.

"What are you suggesting, Colonel?"

"It's not up to me, sir. But let's just say they don't get to see the sunlight very often, and that's not really my idea of a healthy lifestyle."

"Well you're right, Colonel, it's not up to you. But I'll keep your comment in mind. Perhaps it would be judicious to consider relocating Doctor Walsh."

O'Neill's heart sank a little at the word "relocate". Did the General think she'd do better in different lab? Had the Pentagon asked him to send her along elsewhere once she proved trustworthy? Well, perhaps perhaps if they sent her to Washington or Area 51, she'd have more freedom and get to work on the geeky stuff she probably loved. But it sucked that this might happen now, now that something was starting up.

"Perhaps it would," said O'Neill, although saying that chafed quite a bit.

"But at present, Colonel, I think I'll just get some more rest."

"Of course, sir."

And with that O'Neill left the room, slightly bewildered. He hadn't been expected to be grilled about his methods quite so soon, and he certainly hadn't meant to push Walsh out of the base. He couldn't meet her eye as he went to join Daniel and Teal'c, although he felt her looking at him. He suspected she wasn't going to thank him if the General decided to send her far away.


	29. Chapter 29

Walsh should have expected it; things had been too good to be true. She'd been feeling pretty victorious after the successful operation on General Hammond, but now it didn't look like things were going to go her way.

There had been signs, although she'd tried to ignore them. O'Neill had become awkward around her during the past ten days, a strange mixture of friendly and evasive. He must have known that this was coming and wanted to keep his distance. She didn't blame him, but she wished they'd had the opportunity to sort things out. That wasn't on the cards anymore.

She'd been ordered to pack her things without any other explanation, and to report to the General once she was done. She supposed they were either sending her to Washington or to Nevada. The General had only been cleared to go back on duty three days ago, after spending a week in the infirmary. Apparently he was in a hurry to see the back of her. Or perhaps the Pentagon was in a hurry to have her. Either way, there was nothing she could do about it.

Walsh put on her calmest face, although her heart was galloping as she knocked at the General's office. He told her to come in and she did. It was hard to keep herself from saluting; she went for a small nod instead.

"General."

He indicated the chair opposite his. "Doctor Walsh, please take a seat."

She did as she was told and waited for him to settle down too, her throat knotting unpleasantly.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for your collaboration with the SGC. Without your help, things may have gone rather differently when that Goa'uld was in my head."

"I'm glad I could help, sir," she said. It was genuinely touching to hear him say that. She'd worried a lot over his well-being during that whole episode, and it was nice to see that was appreciated.

"In light of recent events, and considering you have proved yourself loyal to the SGC, I believe it would be beneficial to you and us to expand your role here. You've been working in the infirmary with Doctor Fraiser lately, would you consider continuing that sort of work in the future?"

Walsh blinked. She hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn and for a moment was too confused to respond.

"I would be happy to perform any work I'm qualified for in the SGC, sir," she finally managed.

"Good. I know you haven't practised medicine in a while, but I take it you aren't too rusty, considering..." he pointed at the long thin craniotomy scar on his head.

Somehow, Walsh felt even more nervous now than she had when she thought she was going to be sent to another base. This made no sense.

"Sir, if I may... if I'm going to be working here, why did you ask me to pack?"

"Ah, yes. It was also pointed out to me that your living conditions were far from ideal, and certainly not those of our usual civilian collaborators. After some discussion with the Pentagon, we decided that you and Kawalsky have would do better if we housed you outside of Cheyenne Mountain."

Walsh was so dazed that she barely took in the rest of the conversation. She signed several documents including a work contract, leases for military accommodation and for a rental car. She was also provided with identity passes for the base, a birth certificate, a social security number, a driver's license, bank accounts, credit cards, an address, a phone number – she was even signed up for health care. Just like that, she'd become a real person again, instead of some ghost living underground.

She thanked him, perhaps a little weakly. The General smiled and shook her hand, before sending her off. Apparently a car was waiting for her and Kawalsky. She dug her nails into her palm to make sure this wasn't a really good dream.

Then she saw O'Neill hovering around in the corridors, and was vividly reminded of the General's words. "It was pointed out to me", he'd said. Who else would have pointed that out? And he looked pretty pleased with himself too. She couldn't help but smile at him a little wryly.

"I take it this was your idea," she said quietly, as he escorted her towards the elevator.

"Oh no, it was all the General. Well, mostly the General."

"Thank you." She hoped those two words could convey all that she felt. From the way his eyes softened for a moment, she thought that it did.

"Once I'm done with filling out reports here, I'll be off for several days," said O'Neill, apropos of nothing.

"The General gave me a few days to settle in," answered Walsh, as innocently as she could.

"Isn't pizza the customary way to celebrate a house-warming?"

"It would suit me, at any rate."

"Seven o'clock tonight?"

"You don't lose any time," she said, unable to stifle her laughter.

"Sorry. Too soon?"

She smiled at him. "Seven's fine. Do you know where the house is?"

"Ah, yeah." He looked very slightly embarrassed.

She shook her head, amused. "I knew you had a hand in this."

Soon she was in a car with Kawalsky and Major Davis, who of course also had a hand in this. He was barely warmer than the first time they'd met, but Walsh didn't much care. Kawalsky cared even less, and couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Still can't believe this," he told Walsh. "Can you?"

"I'm expecting to wake up any minute now."

"Well we can't both be dreaming the same thing."

"We could," said Walsh, recalling the creepy virtual reality machines on P7J-989, "but it's quite unlikely."

"God, how can you keep so calm?" he asked, fidgeting and twisting around in the car to look out of the windows. "I can't wait."

Walsh just smirked at him. "You've always been impatient, Charles."

"Uhuh, right, and you're not?"

"I know how to wait."

Except, of course, when it came to O'Neill. She couldn't believe that she'd just invited him over to a house she hadn't even seen yet. But she'd been so giddy, she couldn't imagine saying no.

Besides, was there anything better to do on her first day of freedom? Ever since the worries about General Hammond's health were put to rest, thoughts of O'Neill followed her constantly. She couldn't even look at him without getting distracted by his lips, his hands, the way he moved. Whatever was going on with him needed to be resolved, and fast.

The car stopped in front of a row of small one-storey houses in the suburbs of Colorado Springs. There was a Ford Escort in the driveway; nothing fancy, but it would do just fine.

"This is your stop, Doctor Walsh. Major Kawalsky is a little further off."

Davis led her to the small house and opened the door. The place was decorated in neutral tones, and simply furnished. Davis briskly walked her through the living room and a dining space, the kitchen, the bedroom and even the bathroom. Walsh couldn't take it all in. She was elated, dizzy with the promise of freedom.

"Not bad," said Kawalsky, who'd followed the little tour. "You going to be okay here?"

"I'll be fine, Kawalsky," she replied, trying to keep a smile off her face. "You go have a look at your new digs."

"Don't mind if I do."

"And don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she called after him.

"That doesn't narrow things down!" he called back with a huge grin.

The door closed on Davis and Kawalsky. Now she was in her space. This was hers to live in. She turned the idea over in her head, savouring it, finding it more pleasant every time she thought about it.

The shades were down, plunging the little house into semi-darkness. She opened them, peered out onto a slightly yellowing lawn and other small, suburban houses. Everything seemed so peaceful in the morning sun. Perhaps this was just the euphoria speaking, but it was beautiful.

Walsh felt antsy, a mix of impatience and excitement. She explored the house again, trying to take things in a little better. There was closet space in the bedroom – they'd put the box of clothes she'd brought from the SGC in there – and she gave the mattress a close inspection. No suspicious stains.

The bathroom was fine too, no mould, good water pressure in the shower, no windows that anyone could peep through. Those were the main things.

There were cardboard boxes in the living room, the things she'd salvaged from her alter ego's apartment, all clustered around the couch and coffee table. There were also empty bookshelves that she couldn't wait to fill. Keys sat on the table in the dining area, house keys and car keys, another reminder that all this was hers.

She moved into the kitchen, and found that it could be cleaner. Perhaps she was excessively fussy about food preparation areas, but grease spatter put her ill at ease. She made a note to buy detergent.

A glance at her watch told her it was already nine in the morning. Caffeine withdrawal was lurking, certainly adding to her restlessness. And she had a deadline – she refused to think of it as a date, so she had to get organised.

She glanced over the banking details that the General had given her, and took in the sums on Maggie Walsh's accounts. The rent for the house and the car rental fees fit fine with the salary offered by the SGC. Her financial situation was comfortable, especially considering that the apartment in Sunnydale was still going to be sold. Walsh surmised that her alter ego – much like herself – didn't have much time to waste on everyday frivolities and spent most of it working, while the money sat in the bank. It was pretty stupid, but Walsh didn't really know how else to function.

After that she made lists; she'd always found lists soothing. Going out of the house, locking up, getting into the car – all of this seemed surreal. Walsh glanced in the rear view mirror several times to check whether she was being followed or watched. She wasn't. They trusted her.

Shopping was like an unpleasant dream at first. She found the usual shops downtown, but they were all subtly different from what she knew. The people, the noise, none of it was familiar anymore either. And she'd forgotten how to choose things for herself after being stuck with standard issue Air Force clothes, food and toiletries for the last few months. Walsh worked through the unsettling feeling, purchase after purchase, until she felt more at ease.

She got home mentally exhausted but with quite a loot. After a moment's rest – and a coffee – to settle her nerves, she set about making the house her own. Every room slowly became less anonymous when she filled it with the new items she'd purchased, from toiletries to towels, from clothes to cleaning products, from basic foodstuffs to sheets.

It took a lot of scrubbing of various surfaces until she started to feel comfortable. The television was on in the background, providing a familiar drone, and she surveyed the place once more. This wasn't a dream. Nobody was going to come and take this away from her. She wondered if this was how people felt when they came out of prison.

A glance at her watch warned her it was five o'clock, and that brought on a little shudder in her stomach, a mix between anxiety and anticipation. She couldn't wait, but at the same time she wondered what the hell was going to happen. Things had got so heated before Gaia, but they'd kept their distance since then. Still. He'd been impatient to see her alone, that certainly meant something.

She surveyed the civilian clothing she'd bought. It was simple, neither too revealing nor too modest; well, she hoped so. In any case, she knew for sure that she couldn't wear any of Maggie's old clothes. She'd seen the look on O'Neill's face when she'd sorted through them. Too familiar, too many memories. They'd all gone to charity.

Walsh stared at herself in the bathroom mirror as she finished preparing herself. It was nice to be able to wash with something other than military issue soap. And while nothing was going to erase the creases that marked every frown and sneer and smile, she could improve things with moisturiser and some light make-up – luxuries she'd all but forgotten, and strangely enjoyed applying.

Once she was finished, she looked over herself carefully. Perhaps she didn't look particularly striking, but she certainly felt a lot more like herself.

* * *

O'Neill parked his truck at the end of Walsh's street and took a deep breath. He still felt a little stupid for asking to see her so soon, but their banter had been good and it had just felt natural. She'd been quick to agree, after all, and he doubted that it was just for the free pizza.

He'd given it due consideration, especially after Hammond's warning. The rules about this kind of relationship were pretty fuzzy – as long as they acted professional and didn't let it cause trouble at work, they should be okay. She wasn't his direct subordinate, after all.

So the only real difficulty was all the rest – the baggage from their alter egos, the fact they knew each other without knowing each other. He had no idea how to handle that.

And yet here he was, with a pizza and a pack of beers, ringing at her door. His heart thumped loudly for the eternity it took her to open up.

He was taken aback when he saw her. Perhaps it was the sunlight in her hair, or the subtle make-up bringing out her features. Perhaps it was just her smile and the glitter in her eyes. Whatever it was, she looked more radiant than he'd ever seen her.

"You're early," she told him by way of a greeting.

"I am?" He glanced at his watch. Ten to seven. "That never happens."

Walsh smirked and let him in. The place was pretty nice, despite the cardboard boxes stacked in a corner. He hadn't exactly given her much time to settle in, and yet somehow the place was already hers. She walked in front of him like she'd always owned it.

Then he realised that her shoes were clicking purposefully because she was wearing heels. That was different too. Her pale green sweater was form-fitting and its v-neck revealed just the right amount of cleavage, while her tan coloured pants showed off her legs. After seeing her in BDUs all the time he couldn't imagine her wearing anything else. He was glad to be wrong.

"I brought beer," he said, after what felt like an eternity of distraction.

"Good thing I didn't stock up myself, then," she said, leaning against the dining table and watching him unabashedly.

"You knew I was going to bring them, didn't you."

Her eyes glinted playfully. "Perhaps."

"Is there anything about me that you _don't_ know?"

"I'm sure there is." Her tone was cool, but her gaze lingered on him meaningfully.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Now who's not losing any time?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, it's been a weird day," she said with a sheepish grin. "I'm not usually quite this forward."

She took the beer and pizza boxes from him and put them on the table; it felt like she was stripping him naked. Now that there was no tangible barrier between them and that his hands were free, anything could happen. He cast about for something to say, before anything did happen.

"So... good weird, or bad weird?"

"Mostly good, so far."

"Yeah? Happy to be out in the world again?"

"Well..." She looked thoughtful. "It's wonderful have some freedom again. No surveillance cameras, sunlight, I can come and go as I please during downtime..."

"But..?"

"But I haven't been a civilian in a long time. It took me a while to remember what I was supposed to look like out of BDUs."

"Pretty good." The words tumbled out before he could think. "I mean... sorry, that was a bit..."

"Are you apologising for giving me a compliment?"

He shrugged, rubbing a hand across his face and hoping he wasn't blushing too obviously. Walsh laughed softly, reaching out to squeeze his arm. She had a nice laugh, throaty and soft, amused but not mocking. He liked it a lot. Damn, he liked her a lot and he felt like such an idiot.

"I don't usually get this nervous, you know?" he said with a rueful smile.

"Neither do I."

"You're nervous? You look cool as a cucumber."

"Well, I get impatient when I'm nervous. Ever since that kiss..."

"The earth moving..." he added, just to get another of her laughs.

"You'll never let me forget that, will you?" She shook her head, grinning. "Anyhow, ever since then – even before then, if I'm honest – I've thought about it a lot."

He swallowed hard, butterflies dancing up a storm in his stomach. "So have I, it's just..."

Walsh tilted her head to one side, lips parted. How did she manage to look so demure and so enticing all at the same time?

"... we've got some pizzas to eat," he finished lamely.

"In that case I'll do my best to restrain myself."

The amusement in her otherwise prim tone was the last straw. Before he could stop himself he'd grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Once their lips touched all promises to take things slow flew out the window. Their mouths meeting, the little hitch in her breathing, her body close to his were the only things that mattered for a while.

He just about managed to break off the kiss, hands still firmly on the top of her arms. "God this is crazy." He closed his eyes hard to try and calm down.

"I know. On an empty stomach, too."

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. "What are we going to do?"

"Get this out of our system before it drives us nuts."

"And then what?"

"And then we'll eat." She gently stroked the back of his neck. "And then we'll see where it goes after that."

O'Neill was amazed at how matter of fact she sounded, as if it would be that easy. But she was right, they needed to finish what they'd started. He couldn't function if he kept on getting this worked up over her.

He kissed her again, shivering as her nails lightly grazed his neck. She gave a little sigh when he gently ran his fingertips over her face, exploring her features, then moving down along her throat, gingerly brushing against the yellowing bruises. A part of him, still detached from the action, was telling him that this was weird, unreal, familiar but not familiar.

The voice shut up when her lips sucked at his, when he felt her tongue flick and tease along his mouth. A delicious tension rose in his lower belly as their tongues met and played more and more suggestively, as their kisses became avid and feverish, as fingers clung to hair and clothes.

"Come," she said, breaking off the kiss and taking his hand. He wanted to protest, but followed obediently when he realised she was leading him to the bedroom.

Soon O'Neill was sitting on the edge of the bed with Walsh in his lap, her short nails teasing under his shirt while his lips explored her throat. She rocked against him wantonly, flushed and lost in the moment, her small moans and gasps encouraging him to nuzzle her skin, to tease her with the tip of his nose and the length of his tongue in turn. Every brush of her body against his made him lose it a little more, until he was bucking up to meet her, breathless, aching in the most pleasant way.

“Drapes are open,” he mumbled as she started unbuttoning his shirt. Black ops reflexes were never far away, even in these situations.

With a frustrated little huff Walsh disentangled herself from him, and his body mourned the heat of her. He watched her hungrily as she moved through the room, taking in her mussed hair, her reddened face, her kiss-swollen lips. She glanced back at him and smiled, a smile that promised that this would be worth the wait. Just that look made his heart pound, each beat echoing throughout his body.

She stepped out of her shoes as she came back, then stood in front of him, letting him undo her pants. He slid them down her hips, swallowing hard as he revealed her pale skin. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, shivering when he pressed a kiss to her hipbone. Her body was lean and toned, and as he pushed up her sweater he discovered scars on her stomach, some faded, some still pink. He fingered and kissed them one by one, exploring her, drawing small gasps from her.

After removing the rest of her clothes, she settled on the bed and drew him close to kiss him some more. Her fingers pulled at his shirt, unbuttoning it until she could run her palms along his chest. It was his turn to shudder as she undressed him, her movements precise and determined, always followed by kisses and nips to his newly revealed skin. Layer by layer clothing was shed, until he lay naked beneath her, shivering under her touch.

He gazed up at her as she stared down at him, panting softly. In a slow, sensual movement she straddled his waist then slowly bent down to kiss him deeply. He squirmed beneath her, acutely feeling the tip of her breasts slide on his skin, the tension in her strong legs around him, the heat of her breath in his mouth.

His fingers strayed over her body, tracing curves and lines. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, nipples hardening, goosebumps springing up on her breasts in the wake of his touch. He moved his hand down her belly, slid his fingers between her thighs and into places that made her shudder, teasing until her hips jerked forward and soft moans greeted his hands.

The feel of her slick heat, seeing her so aroused, made him grow even harder. Perhaps she felt it, because her lips parted in a wicked smile. She reached back and closed her hand around him, stroking lightly at first, squeezing when he teased her some more, her thumb flicking over the head in stokes that made him twitch with pleasure. He could barely breathe, choked by the delicious torment, by the sight of her astride him. 

“Condom,” he blurted out, trying to grab his pants before all rational thought fled his mind.

She smiled and let him fumble for the foil wrapper in his pocket, then, when she saw how much his hands were shaking, taking it from him to tear it open. She shifted down and unrolled the condom down his length in a smooth, steady movement.

Their eyes met again as she knelt above him, now cradling his erection between her thighs. Their breath was ragged, their bodies shuddering with need when she finally lifted herself up and guided him inside.

“Jesus Christ!” He barked the words out harshly, hips bucking up of their own accord. It had been a damn long time.

Her body quivered, arched back as he slid into her. It was an incredible sensation, heady and slightly frightening at the same time. She was beautiful above him, make-up smeared, her breath coming in short gasps. This wasn't a fantasy; it was really happening. The thought flitted through his mind, only to be replaced by oblivion when she bent over and her lips found his again.

Then they were moving, her hips tilting and grinding circles, his thrusting up into her. He made sounds that made no sense, moaning, cursing as the tension rose higher and higher; she responded in kind, each sound driving him further to the brink. Their hands, their hips, their bodies worked together surprisingly easily, until she was gasping above him, moaning, her body arching with pleasure.

He barely had a coherent thought after that, pure need taking over. His hips moved in a relentless rhythm as her nails dug into his chest, making him thrust harder, deeper. The tension peaked into a moment of blinding pleasure and a cry shot out of his throat.

They lay there for a while, exhausted and panting. Her fingers soothingly stroked along his back, and with his head nestled against her throat he listened to her pulse gradually slow down.

"Still hankering for that pizza?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah, I'm ravenous."

"Same here. I'll heat it up." She kissed him lightly and let go of his hand. He idly watched her roll out of bed and pull on her underwear.

Once she was out of sight he went to the bathroom, got rid of the condom and freshened up a little. The dreaded little voice in his brain still couldn't believe what he'd just done with her. Not that it was bad, but... confusing, definitely.

He really didn't want to compare Walsh and Maggie. Nothing good could come of it, but the thoughts popped up unbidden now he was alone. Maggie had more curves. Walsh was gentler. Maggie teased longer. Walsh came more easily. He was glad this hadn't occurred to him while they were in bed, but he still cringed inside at his little analysis. And if he was thinking about this, Walsh would definitely be doing the same. He liked that even less.

He joined her in the living room after splashing his face with water – in hopes that it might wash away those damn thoughts, perhaps. She was just leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and the dining area, looking distracted. Her face was serene though, an expression he'd never seen on her. It was good to see.

"Hey," he said, stopping right behind her.

She glanced up at him and smiled. "Pizza should be ready."

"Then let's."

They settled down on the couch together in their underwear and ate quietly. It wasn't exactly snuggling, although her knee or her calf would occasionally brush up against his, sending a little shiver through him each time.

"So... do you regret hurrying?"

He looked at her for a while, taken aback by the sudden question. She looked back, smiling a little but definitely not playful anymore. He swallowed his mouthful of pizza through a knot in his throat.

"No. No, it's... well I don't think I've got it out of my system for very long, but..." He wasn't even sure where that sentence was going. "How about you?"

"No regrets."

"Even though I really, really suck at relationship stuff?"

"I like what I've seen so far." Her fingers stroked the back of his hand lightly.

"How about you? Are you any good at this."

She shrugged. "Well, I managed it for a while."

"With, uh..." He couldn't even bring himself to say his name. How stupid was it to feel threatened by a dead alter ego in a parallel universe?

"With my husband." O'Neill must have looked shocked and confused, because she made a little face. "I'm sorry, that was abrupt."

"No, I just... had no idea. When were you married?"

"Oh, before I joined the Air Force. He was my boyfriend in college, we married when I started Med School. It feels like a lifetime ago."

"What happened?"

"Everything was going fine until..." She frowned, hesitating. "Until I got pregnant. It wasn't really planned but we took it in our stride. Then I miscarried. By that time we'd got into the idea of starting a family but... well, let's just say that I found out the hard way that it wasn't just a one-off."

"Ah."

He really was a dumbass for not seeing that coming. Had Maggie been married, had she gone through the same thing? That's what Walsh had supposed, anyhow, and it did make sense. O'Neill mentally berated himself for thinking of that. It really wasn't the time or place, not just after Walsh had just opened up to him like that.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

There was something brittle and vulnerable about her voice that made his heart ache a little. He shook his head, drawing her closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Walsh didn't resist, shifting against him and pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

"Anyhow, my husband really wanted to continue trying for a kid, and I really didn't. In the end I decided that I also didn't want to be with someone who couldn't understand why I wasn't going to put myself through that."

"I understand. I'm not even sure that I would–" He stopped himself, because he was about to mention Charlie, and that always hurt. "Someone wanted to start a family with me, and it was hard not to think how badly it ended the first time."

She looked up at him. "Really? When was that?"

"About six, seven months ago. Long story short, I was stranded on a planet and... a relationship happened. It got pretty serious."

"Right." She looked a little pale. Damn it, him and his big mouth.

"Sorry, I know it's really bad form to talk about exes–"

"Well, I started it," she said a little sharply; she obviously wasn't going to let him wriggle out of this one. "Tell me what happened."

"The gate got buried. It took more than three months for them to figure out how to come and get me. I thought it was for good."

She pulled him close and squeezed him tight. Perhaps she understood how fucking scary that situation had been for him.

"Anyhow I was starting to get settled down with one of the locals when then they came to rescue me. I told her I'd come back and... well... I didn't."

She drew back to look at him again, a slight frown creasing her brow.

He sighed and rubbed his face. "I know, I told you I suck. But when I got back here I found out Maggie was dead and I... kind of got wrapped up into getting answers. After that, it just seemed like it was too late. Then there was that stuff with Carter and the za'tarc detector. And now... well, there's you."

Although how long she let him hang around now that he'd told her that great little story was anyone's guess. She didn't kick him out though; in fact she relaxed in his arms, and smiled wryly.

"Out of the frying pan, into the fire, huh?"

He felt himself breathe more easily. "You talking about you or me?"

"Both, perhaps," she said with a chuckle. "But I still don't regret it."

Perhaps they were playing with fire. On the other hand, touching her felt good, reassuring, real. It felt right. As he drew Walsh in for a kiss, O'Neill hoped hard that they wouldn't get burned in the cold light of day.


	30. Chapter 30

Walsh awoke when she felt O'Neill stir. He was spooned behind her, an arm draped around her waist, a warm hand resting on her stomach. It felt a little weird to be this close all of a sudden. It also felt incredibly good.

O'Neill's light snore went quiet, his breath still warm on the nape of her neck. Walsh smiled when he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he murmured in her ear, nuzzling her.

They lay together for a while, drifting in and out of sleep, until the dull ache in the shoulder she was resting on made her shift onto her back. She rubbed it with a little groan, while O'Neill watched between half-closed eyes.

"You okay? Was it... too rough last night?"

She couldn't stop the smile on her face when he mentioned last night. Yes, she was a little sore. And she'd certainly panted herself hoarse and was paying for it with stabbing pains in her already bruised throat. She really didn't give a damn, it was all worth it.

"Last night was fine," she told him softly. "My shoulder's stiff because I'm not twenty anymore. And probably because I dislocated it a few years ago and it's never been the same since."

"In action?"

"The gate malfunctioned and I got spat out the other side."

"I hate it when that happens."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was still a little awkward, but then again a few weeks ago she wouldn't have dreamed of him letting her into his life at all.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Are you?"

He snickered. "Such a shrink thing, answering a question with another question. Yeah, I am."

"Well I have eggs, you can get cooking."

"Bossy."

O'Neill rolled over to get out of bed, groaning as he stretched. He picked his boxers and undershirt off the floor and she watched him pull them on, admiring the way the muscles moved under his skin. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she couldn't help grinning back at him. He gave her a smile and then strode into the kitchen.

Walsh had a quick shower, surprised at how giddy she was. This all felt new to her. It shouldn't. She'd had other lovers. She'd fooled around with his alter ego for years. And still, this was strange and new and a little wonderful.

And frightening. Her legs were still wobbling when she came out of the shower, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the euphoric exhaustion from the night before, or plain old fear. Probably both. At her age it was a little ridiculous. But there was a lot of uncertainty about her relationship with O'Neill, after all.

Being with him was strangely different than being with the Jack from her world. Perhaps because O'Neill didn't keep himself at a distance quite as much. Perhaps because _she_ didn't have to keep her distance with him, either. Sure, the regulations were still a sword of Damocles over their heads, if things became visible at work, but in private... well in private, she was free to feel and desire whatever she damn well wanted with this man. She couldn't help but wonder how close they could get, without any set limits.

On the other hand, he'd abandoned a woman with whom he'd been about to start a family. That had been a bit of a shock. She could understand it, the circumstances were less than ideal, but it didn't exactly bode well either. Perhaps he didn't want a relationship, and they'd keep it casual.

She was getting ahead of herself. Taking a deep breath, she told herself sternly to just take things as they came, one day at a time.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she found that he'd made coffee and was cooking eggs. The coffee smelled great, and if she intervened now, the eggs might even stand a chance of not being charred.

"Scrambled okay?" he asked.

"As long as it's not scorched," she replied, peeking into the frying pan. The eggs didn't look like rubber yet, which was encouraging.

"Oh ye of little faith."

"I've seen your barbecues."

"Not _exactly_ mine."

Ah. Well, that was a nice faux-pas, and she could tell from the sharpness in his voice that he wasn't pleased about it.

"I need the bathroom, will you take over?" he said gruffly.

She watched him go, seeing the slight hunch in his shoulders that usually meant he was bothered. Walsh sighed and finished cooking the eggs. At least now the euphoric bubble had burst and they were back to the ugly reality that they were in a potentially messy relationship.

She was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee when he returned. His hair was mussed, and his eyes roved over her intensely for a moment. They softened a little when they caught hers, but he still didn't look very happy.

"I kept the eggs warm," she told him.

He brought the pan to the table and dished up plates for them both. They ate quietly, eyes carefully turned to their food. It wasn't surprising that things would be awkward, and Walsh berated herself for making such a careless comment. On the other hand, it wouldn't be honest to act as if she were finding out everything about O'Neill for the first time, would it?

He looked up at her after a while. "Penny for your thoughts."

"I was thinking about my blunder, and how to avoid doing it again."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm kind of a specialist when it comes to putting my foot in my mouth. Pretty sure I'll also assume stuff about you based on what I knew about Maggie."

"Like how I like my coffee."

"Exactly. You do like your coffee that way, right?"

"I do, but it's still an assumption. Perhaps another Maggie Walsh in another dimension only drinks tea."

"That seems really weird to me, but I guess so. You have a pretty big advantage over me though. I never got to know Maggie the way you knew... him."

"I know. I mean even before I met Jack, I'd already studied his profile and his background in great depth. My job was to pick out people for missions, after all, I was supposed to know as much as possible about him and his reactions."

"And that was way before you worked with him intensely in SG-1."

"Yeah. I get it if it freaks you out." Though she wished he'd said it the night before, wished that he'd thought about it before starting something; the idea of him calling it all off sent a pang through her chest.

"I don't really mind that you know stuff about me," he said thoughtfully. "I mean... at least you know what you're getting into. But..."

The hesitation seemed to draw out over an eternity. Walsh had to remind herself to breathe.

"We had a Carter from another dimension."

It was slightly out of left field, but she could work with that. "Yes?"

"She and her O'Neill were married, but he was dead when she came to us. And... I guess she wanted me to comfort her, but I couldn't, really. Cause at the end of the day she knew I wasn't the right one, you know?"

Walsh took a sip of coffee. There was something poignant in what he was trying to tell her. He thought he wasn't good enough to replace that other O'Neill. She'd seen this in Jack too. She'd heard this O'Neill say it time and again. They were convinced that they sucked, that somehow they weren't good enough. It always made Walsh sad.

"And you think I might decide that you can't replace the Jack from my world?"

He made a face and shrugged a little, but she was pretty certain that was a yes.

"Well it's true. You can't replace Jack." She noticed the worry flitting over O'Neill's face, and continued quickly. "That Jack is dead. I mourned him for several months before I got here. I'm probably not entirely over him, but... I do feel ready for something new."

"And I'm new?"

"I've been here for months now, and somehow you've managed to be at the centre of everything. You hated me, you challenged me... I spent those months trying to figure you out. That was all new to me, that kept me in your world, rather than thinking about mine. And that's why it was always clear in my mind that you're not the same Jack. After tonight, it's even more clear."

"In a good way, I hope."

His voice was tense, his face terribly guarded when he said that. She reached for his hand and stroked it gently, watching his features soften with relief.

"Yes, in a good way. Look, I may be attracted to you because you're similar to him, but I'm also attracted to you because you're different, and I want to know you. I'm not interested in pretending that you're him, or in using you to comfort myself. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, looking into her eyes intensely again, letting the silence and the tension rise between them. "Same here."

She smiled, poking at her eggs and vibrating with a mixture of nerves and happiness. He'd said it in a terribly O'Neill way, but their feelings seemed mutual. So far, so good.

"That was a pretty hairy conversation to have so early in the morning," he said.

"You don't say. So... should I avoid mentioning him? Should I just act like I don't know all these things about your habits and your tastes?"

"That just sounds phoney."

"It is."

"Just... do what comes naturally."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "I will."

The tension in the room dwindled as they finished their plates. Walsh suspected this wasn't the last of the difficult conversations, but they were doing rather well under the circumstances.

"So, d'you have plans for today?" he asked.

She laughed softly. "Honestly, I'm not even sure what day of the week this is. They just said that they were expecting me on Monday morning."

"It's Saturday," he said with a smile.

"Well in any case, I don't have any plans. It's not like you can bring work home."

"Yeah, isn't that just terrible?" He smirked hugely. "So what do you usually do for fun?"

She had to stop and think about this for a while. "You know what? It's been damn long since I got to do anything for fun. But usually it involved Daniel or Janet."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean sometimes Jack and Carter joined us too, but only if we went out as a team. You never know when someone will start seeing a relationship between a CO and a subordinate as unprofessional if they're seen in public together."

He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Tell me about it."

"How about your plans?"

"Well, I'm kind of itching for a good hike, after being cooped up under the mountain doing nothing but stressing, you know?"

"That sounds like a great idea."

"Want to come?"

"Aren't you sick of spending time with me yet?"

He mulled this over for longer than necessary, his eyes twinkling as he teased her with his silence.

"No," he said, finally. "You?"

"No. You're good company."

"High praise." He smiled and finished his coffee.

It was true, though, she couldn't express how good it felt to spend time with him. She was usually very independent, but after months of pretty much everyone being cautious and distant – except for Kawalsky, who was often off on missions – she'd started to feel lonely. Perhaps she hadn't realised how much she was used to being constantly surrounded by friendly faces in her world.

After clearing the plates Walsh went to look for hiking clothes. Most of the things she'd been issued while she was living in the SGC were pretty appropriate. A T-shirt and BDU pants would do nicely, as would the boots she wore most of the time anyway. O'Neill watched her choose her clothing, his gaze more intent when she threw off her robe. She didn't mind that one bit.

She also didn't mind that O'Neill distracted her with a long, searing kiss, or that the kiss turned into an unstoppable chain reaction. There may be awkwardness between them, but the chemistry certainly worked perfectly.

It was a little strange when they finally stepped out of her house together. Walking side by side felt like something terribly forbidden, and she couldn't help but scan the street for passers-by.

"Relax," O'Neill said as he unlocked his pick-up truck and opened the door for her, a surprisingly chivalrous gesture. "Nobody cares that you had company."

"And yet you parked quite a way away from the house."

"There wasn't room elsewhere," he said, but his sheepish expression told another story. He'd definitely been paranoid the night before; it was quite encouraging that he felt better about it now.

He drove off at a leisurely speed, and she soon recognised the road to his place – he needed to stop there and change. Walsh watched the town, feeling strangely relaxed, enjoying the drive. It was still the euphoria of freedom, of finally seeing the sunlight again. Of course, the sex helped too.

O'Neill looked awkward when he parked his car in front of the very familiar house, and hesitated a moment before turning to Walsh. "Uh, I won't be long."

She glanced at his house, wondering why he seemed so reluctant to invite her in for a moment. "All right, then." There wasn't any point in being pushy.

He got out and walked off, glancing back at her a few times as he went, as if to check she wasn't following. She watched casually, making herself comfortable in the truck. Was his house in such chaos that he didn't dare show it to her? Or was he being paranoid again, worried that people were watching?

The reason for his secretive behaviour suddenly materialised in the form of a sandy cat jumping up on the truck's hood. Walsh started a little, surprised by the sudden appearance; then laughter welled up in her. She climbed out, chuckling all along at the ridiculous situation.

The cat obviously couldn't really tell the difference between her and Maggie, and was more than happy to let her stroke its soft short fur. Walsh found herself enjoying the moment more than she'd expected. It was a simple pleasure, but one she hadn't experienced for a while.

O'Neill came out soon enough, and Walsh couldn't help laughing again at the intensely annoyed expression on his face when he spotted the cat. He grumbled something indistinct from the other end of the driveway and stalked up towards them.

"I totally got busted, didn't I?"

She smiled. "You really did."

"Well, I'm glad you're laughing. I thought... after our conversation today..."

"That I might find you a little hypocritical to get annoyed at an offhand comment about your alter ego, when you were keeping your ex's cat in the house?"

He made a face. "Yeah."

"So tell me, why would would you keep an animal that you so obviously loathe?"

He stood next to her, watching as she stroked the purring beast. "Well, the vet reckons it's healthy, so who am I to get it put down? But it's about ten years old, not really likely to get adopted and..." He rolled his eyes.

"And you're a sucker when it comes to animals," she finished.

"Something like that."

"And how long are you going to let it stay with you?"

He let out a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his face. "I have no idea."

"Were you hoping I'd take it?"

"Well..." He looked just a little guilty. "You seemed to get along pretty well with it."

"Probably because it can't tell I'm not the right Maggie," she said softly, rubbing under the cat's chin.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I guess I'll ask around at the base, see if anyone's looking..."

"Wait a while. I'm not ready for a pet at the moment, but maybe once I've settled in..."

She rather liked the idea of having some furry company, and something told her that – independent as cats were – this one was feeling a little lonely.

"Well, don't feel pressured either," O'Neill said. "I can see how it would be weird to have my... yeah, my ex's cat. It's not cause she left a ton of unfinished business that you have to take care of it."

Walsh chuckled wryly. "I think it's a little late to tell me that."

"Yeah, I guess it is." He gave her arm a squeeze, and a gentle kiss on the lips. "C'mon, are we going hiking or not?"

Once the cat was off the truck's hood and back in the house, they set off towards whichever trail caught O'Neill's fancy. Walsh watched the city disappear as they drove into the woody hills.

Their walk started out quietly, and Walsh enjoyed the companionable silence. The day was balmy despite some heavy clouds darkening the sky from time to time, and it felt good to breathe the sweet scent of the pine trees in the morning sun.

"Careful, Walsh, that root there's kinda treacherous," O'Neill called out at one point.

She nodded and kept her attention on the path, avoiding a tangle of roots growing just above the soil. He may have seen something on her face, an uncontrollable wince perhaps, because he slowed until that they were walking side by side.

"I know it's not ideal that I'm calling you by your last name," he said after some cautious consideration.

She shrugged. "That's okay. I'm kind of used to it."

"Really, you're okay with that? I'm not even sure _I'm_ okay with that."

"You're still angry with Maggie and you don't want my name to remind you of that. I understand."

"That's a rationalising shrink answer if I've ever heard one."

She just laughed a little. Of course she was rationalising. It wasn't worth getting upset because he wasn't as familiar with her as she'd like. It did hurt a little, but he'd given her a lot already. She mustn't be greedy.

"Maybe I can find an alternate name," he said after a while. "How about Margaret?"

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He'd probably learned from Maggie that she really didn't like being called that.

"Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"Well, how else do you shorten Margaret? Marg? Madge? Maggs? Oooh..."

She knew what he'd thought the instant his eyes lit up. "Don't say it," she warned sternly.

"Marge!"

She punched him in the arm and he cackled delightedly as he danced away from her, the spitting image of a naughty little boy. She couldn't help but laugh too. Nobody in her dimension had ever dared to point out that she had a _Simpsons_ ' character name, not even Jack.

"I'm gonna have a bruise," he complained after a while, rubbing his arm.

"I told you not to say it."

They walked for a long stretch, fast enough for Walsh to feel the welcome burn in her thighs and calves, the slight rise in her pulse. The views were becoming scenic, red craggy peaks started appearing between the trees. The sun rose higher in the sky.

"So, d'you think this is gonna work?" he asked.

She really shouldn't have been this surprised by his question, but she nearly stopped in her tracks and stumbled a little as her feet kept walking while her brain was stalled.

"I think it'll work for me," she said at last. "You?"

"Well, it's not the easiest relationship I could have chosen."

"I'll say. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider that long-distance relationship instead?" She said it in a teasing tone, but she knew the question would still nag at her for a while.

He laughed, lightly placing his hand on her waist. "D'you think it would be easier?"

"Could be."

"On the other hand, I don't usually go for easy."

"I tend to go for pretty damn complicated."

"So basically what you're saying is we're both pretty screwed up." He shot her a grin.

She smiled back. "That's pretty much the long and the short of it, yeah."

"And yet here we are. You know, I think it's gonna be... interesting."

"I think so too."

He slipped his hand around hers, letting their fingers twine together. Her stomach fluttered like a schoolgirl's. She couldn't remember the last time she'd just walked along hand in hand with someone, or how good it felt.

"So... were you ever gonna tell me about the time you swapped bodies with your CO?"

She laughed softly and just kept walking, savouring the heat of the sun and of O'Neill's hand against hers.


End file.
